A King For Human And Deryni
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: AU. The events of 'Deryni Rising' from the pov of OCs including Kelson's Bremagni cousins and descendants of Saint Camber.
1. Chapter 1

"When is the funeral?" the question, put in appropriately subdued tones by Joscelin, Prince de Besancon and heir to the crown of Bremagne, brought a slightly embarrassed reply from the his cousin, the nearly fourteen year old King of Gwynedd:

"Father was buried three days ago."

Joscelin, a year older than Kelson Haldane, stared in open consternation struggling to find a polite way to put his next question.

His sister, the Princess Roxana, saved him the trouble. "But - I thought Uncle Brion was killed in a hunting accident." she faltered in her soft, little girl voice, eyes wide with troubled innocence.

Kelson swallowed. "We were hunting but it wasn't an accident. He - his heart failed."

Jehana, the queen dowager, got abruptly to her feet and walked quickly, black velvet skirts swishing, to a window overlooking the palace gardens, her back to the youngsters.

Of the three Kelson, her son, resembled her the least with his straight black hair and pale gray eyes. It was her brother's children who shared her bright red-golden hair and the little princess had the same darkling emerald eyes but Joscelin's were gray like Kelson's, inherited from a Haldane grandmother.

"I'm sorry." Roxana said nervously to her aunt's rigid back. "It's just such a quick burial - I thought something must be wrong," Jehana tensed visibly, "some sickness..."

The queen turned to face her niece manufacturing a reassuring smile. "No, dear. Nothing like that. There were - other reasons."

Reasons Kelson did not approve of or agree with Joscelin thought, studying his cousin's mutinous face. He'd sensed the tension between mother and son the moment he set eyes on them. He watched his aunt pour herself a glass of wine from the sideboard then come back to sit beside Kelson in a gilded chair, the arms of Bremagne impaled with the Lion of Gwynedd on the high back.

Much as Joscelin hated to think about it what had happened to Kelson could happen to him. Father could die suddenly, unexpectedly, and he'd be King of Bremagne with all that entailed. It would happen someday - many years hence pray God! - but whenever it did he'd need his mother's help and support desperately. Kelson must need Aunt Jehana just as much so what was so wrong between them? He couldn't believe she didn't want to do everything possible for her only son!

"We haven't missed your coronation too have we?" Joscelin asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Kelson produced a pallid smile. "No, you're in good time for that. It's not 'til the fifteenth."

"The day after your birthday." said Joscelin.

His cousin nodded. "A king can't be crowned before he's reached his majority."

"And is of age to make binding vows." Joscelin finished for him. "We have the same law in Bremagne."

"As do most kingdoms." Kelson glanced sidelong at his younger cousin, an unexpected hint of the familiar teasing breaking through. "After all a child like Roxana wouldn't understand what she was swearing to."

"Two years don't make that much difference." the twelve year old princess responded tartly. "But with three brothers I'm never likely to be queen anyway."

"Maybe not of Bremagne," Joscelin conceded, "but there are other kingdoms. What about Gwynedd? Kelson's going to be in the market for a wife one of these days."

Their cousin registered unflattering alarm. Roxana shook her head. "We're too closely related."

"You could get a dispensation." Joscelin suggested. Aunt Jehana clearly liked the idea, Roxana'd always been a favorite of hers. Kelson continued to look appalled at the very thought.

"You're both much too young for thoughts of marriage." the queen said firmly. Kelson's bright smile of relief was extinguished as she continued meditatively; "However it is certainly something to consider for the future."

"Thanks a lot!" Kelson snapped as the three young people went down the steps into the sun filled warmth of the sunken rose garden.

"You don't want to marry me, Kelson?" the princess pouted.

"No!" he said bluntly. She dropped the pretense and laughed.

Joscelin shrugged. "You could do worse. And it would be awfully convenient given Roxana's dowry is a Gwyneddan barony."

He was here to represent Bremagne at the coronation - and to remind the Shadowed One that Kelson had powerful kin, Deryni kin, who would not let her usurp his throne in peace. Roxana had accompanied him not only to cheer up poor Aunt Jehana, but to do fealty for lands inherited from their Haldane grandmother.

Desiree Fitz-Donal, natural daughter of Kelson's grandsire, had been formally acknowledged by her father and granted the barony of Kintagel in Carthmoor before her marriage to a Tralian prince. Her title and lands passed to her only daughter, Joscelin and Roxana's mother. Now Queen Dulchene had decided to transfer her dower lands to her own eldest daughter and Roxana had to do homage for them..

Joscelin cast around with his mind to be sure they were indeed alone, then said bluntly: "What's wrong, Kel? What really happened to Uncle Brion."

Taken by surprise the words burst out of their cousin. "He was murdered!"

Joscelin set his jaw grimly, so Father's suspicions had been right! "By the Festillic pretender?"

"I think so." Kelson sank onto a bench, looking up at his older cousin with a sort of relief.

"By magic?" Roxana asked. sitting beside him.

"It must have been." Kelson answered. "Father wasn't old, and he was in perfect health. It can't have been a natural death."

"My father was afraid it wasn't." Joscelin agreed. "And Charissa is a sorceress. It's the natural thought."

"Not for Mother." Kelson said a little bitterly. "She gets hysterical every time I mention the possibility."

Joscelin frowned, sitting down on Kelson's other side. "Well nobody would expect her to like the idea, but closing her eyes and pretending isn't going to make the Shadowed One go away!"

Kelson made a helpless little gesture. "I can't talk to her, she's been impossible these last few days."

"Maybe she's gone mad with grief, like the ladies in songs." Roxana suggested unhelpfully. "Everybody knows how much she and Uncle Brion loved each other."

Joscelin snorted. "Very romantic, but not very likely."

"What about the Haldane powers?" Roxana asked. Kelson stared at his younger cousin incredulously as her brother rolled his eyes at her bluntness. "Do you have them, can you get them?"

"How - how do you know about that?" Kelson demanded, shocked.

"It's not exactly a secret, Kel." Joscelin put in quickly. "Everybody knows how your father defeated the Marluk - and how Cinhil killed Imre for that matter. Even if Charissa didn't kill Uncle Brion she's likely to challenge you, and you can't face her without your ancestral power."

"I know." Kelson put his head in his hands. "Father never talked about such things with me - because of Mother I guess. I've sent for Morgan, the Duke of Corwyn. If he doesn't hold the key then the power died with Father and I'm dead too."

Roxana patted his hunched shoulder. "Duke Alaric will know what to do. He's Deryni."

Kelson raised his head a little to give her a curious look. "You don't hate Deryni like Mother do you?" turned his head to Joscelin, "either of you."

"They're - just like Humans really. Some good, some bad." Joscelin said choosing his words. "So we were taught. I don't know why Aunt Jehana's so fanatical about them. Father certainly isn't."

"I guess I always thought everybody in Bremagne felt the way she did." Kelson admitted. "Maybe it's because she was convent educated."

Joscelin and Roxana exchanged looks over his head. Abbess Rohane had forsworn her powers - as Aunt Jehana was to do - maybe it was her fault.

"Magic's just like any other kind of power, good or bad according to how you use it." Joscelin said. His cousin looked at him and he continued carefully; "We de Besancons have powers too, like the Haldanes, it's part of our kingship."

"In a world full of magic, bad as well as good, kings have to have the power to protect their people." said Roxana.

"I wish to God Mother felt that way!" said Kelson.

"I know Aunt Jehana's forsworn her powers, doesn't even remember that she is Deryni, but that shouldn't have made her hate us!" Roxana said to her brother, troubled.

They sat over the remains of their supper at a small linen draped table in an oriel window of the solar of their guest suite The third chair was occupied by a senior knight of the Household, Sir Berardin, appointed to protect the royal pair. Joscelin's squire, and a couple of pages in the black and white livery of Bremagne moved quietly around the room, clearing the dishes away. There would be no meals served publicly in the hall until the mourning period ended.

"Maybe you've got it the wrong way around," Joscelin suggested. "maybe she forswore her powers because she hated them, and being Deryni." He looked up at their knight-governor "What do you think, Berardin?"

The man, old enough to be his charges' father, fingered the nutshells on his plate as he considered. "I fear my late lord, your grandsire, made a grave mistake in entrusting his daughter's education to the Abbess of Saint-Elie." he said at last. "They say Mother Rohane died mad, raging against her Deryni blood."

"I heard she committed suicide by opening her veins." Delrae, the squire, put in offering the finger bowl to his master. Brother and sister flinched, as well they might. Suicide was mortal sin, for a holy abbess to do such a thing she had to have been mad!

Berardin folded his mouth in a grim line. "I fear that might be true. Of course it happened long after Princess Jehane left her tutelage but who is to know when her madness began?"

"So she could have poisoned Aunt Jehana's mind against her powers and her people." Joscelin said heavily, drying his hands with a linen towel.

"God knows she wouldn't have been the first of our kind to turn on us." Berardin agreed as the squire passed behind his chair to offer the bowl to Roxana.

"Poor Aunt Jehana." the princess sighed, dabbling her fingers.

"Poor Kelson!" her brother retorted. "He needs the Haldane power, and she's likely to fight him every step of the way."

"Duke Alaric worked King Brion's empowerment, no doubt he can do the same for his son." Berardin said reassuringly.

"If Aunt Jehana lets him." the prince said bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2

A small cavalcade of riders in the somber black of deep mourning passed beneath the King's Gate hoofs clacking on the cobbles of the upper ward's forecourt. Prince Conall Haldane, watching the grooms exercise the royal horses with a dozen or so other squires and pages, took one look at the banner waving above the newcomers: party per pale Gules and Azure a Lion rampant guardant Or within a Bordure Ermine and ran for the great hall, leaping up the steps two at a time to vanish within the open doors.

Seffira MacAthan, Duchess of Travlum, dismounted without assistance, having ridden astride as she usually did, and looked around the peaceful forecourt, a slight frown knitting feathery brows. The pale oval of her face, framed by silken wimple and sable lined hood, had a childlike beauty with its small, delicate features, great eyes and round dimpled chin but the firm set of those rose petal lips and level, steely gaze of the violet eyes gave lie to the first impression of frail softness. Tendrils of curling red hair escaped from beneath the wimple. Her husband came to her side, taking her arm, and she turned her frown up at him.

"Where is everybody? Surely his lords and the citizens of Rhemuth should be here to do Brion honor?"

Duke Cathan could only shake his head and turn her towards the hall stair. They mounted the steps trailed by their small retinue of squires and women and a pair of chamber grooms in the scarlet and blue MacAthan plaid, then passed into a hall as empty and peaceful as the courtyard outside.

Prince Nigel entered by a door behind the dais and hurried towards them attended by his eldest son. Seffira swept to meet him, black skirts and heavy riding cloak swirling with her rapid steps. "Nigel! Where is Brion? Have they laid him in the basilica?"

The Prince delayed his answer a moment to embrace his foster sister then pulled back, swallowed and admitted. "He's buried, Seffira, three days ago. It was the Queen's wish."

Nigel was braced for an explosion but his sister surprised him; she frowned a moment in thought, black gloved hands resting quiet on his shoulders, then nodded. "Getting it over and done with. I can understand that. I might well feel the same in her place." she felt the Prince relax and smiled wryly up at him. "Don't worry, Nigel. I'm not going to quarrel with Jehana over anything - not now. Whatever her faults and fancies she loved Brion dearly and she must be suffering."

"We all are." the Prince answered, forcing back too ready tears.

"It was murder of course." Duke Cathan said quietly.

Nigel looked over Seffira's shoulder into eyes as Haldane gray as his own and nodded unhappy agreement. "So Kelson and I believe. It was too sudden, and too convenient to be anything else."

Duke Cathan's glance flashed to Prince Conall, all ears and eyes. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private."

"You suspect the Shadowed One of course." Cathan resumed. He and his duchess were now seated in the privacy of Duchess Meraude's solar, with wine cups in hand and no youthful ears by to listen.

"Yes. But as for how..." Nigel let his voice trail away as he studied his distant kinsman. Duke Cathan was a tall man, leanly made but broad in the shoulders, with a roundish face and boldly modeled features crowned by golden hair barely touched with silver gathered into a braid that hung almost to his waist. A short, silver gilt beard framed a faintly ironic mouth. His banner neatly encapsulated his lineage - and explained why his was so infrequent a presence at court despite rank and kinship.

Cathan Haldane-MacAthan bore the Lion of Gwynedd as the great grandson of Prince Jaron, son of King Cluim and brother to Nigel's own grandfather. But the Ermine bordure alluded to Cathan's great grandmother, the Princess Salentina, sole surviving child and heiress of the Festilic pretender slain at Killingford almost a hundred years ago. Jaron's heir had also been a daughter, the Princess Tamarine, and the field party per pale Gules and Azure aluded to the arms of her husband, Elathan MacAthan, a border noble of unblemished loyalty. But his blood, and royal Haldane wasn't quite enough to erase the taint of Cathan's Deryni ancestry.

Nigel found himself wondering, as he often had before, just how Deryni Duke Cathan was. He'd never made any public use of magic - assuming he could - and yet he had a presence that hinted at great power tightly leashed. A presence that reminded Nigel irresistibly of his brother Brion - or the Deryni Alaric Morgan.

Nigel's gaze moved to Seffira. There was no question about her, her mother had been a known Deryni. The Lady Jessamy had never made any apparent use of her powers but her brother Morian ap Lewys most certainly had - in King Donal's service. Jessamy's husband, Sir Sief MacAthan was of the same family as Cathan's grandfather Elathan but court gossip had insisted for years that Seffira and her younger brother Krispin were in fact the children of King Donal.

Nigel had never been able to make up his mind about that. Seffira's looks favored her mother but those thick red curls must have come from Sief Macathan - or just possibly from the auburn haired Princess Jaroni, Queen to Cluim Haldane. Foster sister or half sister she was still Deryni and might have some knowledge of matters arcane.

If she did she had no intention of sharing it. "No doubt there are ways." was all she said.

Duchess Meraude blinked back tears, her eyes reddened from frequent weeping over these past trying days. "I hate to think about it. Poor Brion! and poor Kelson!"

"Poor Kelson indeed." Cathan agreed gravely. "Even if she wasn't responsible for Brion's sudden death the Pretender is unlikely to let him be crowned without challenge." his gaze moved to Nigel. "Where is Alaric Morgan?"

"Cardosa. He's been sent for - he should be here well before the coronation thank God." Nigel said feelingly.

Cathan nodded satisfied. All in the room knew that Morgan had handled King Brion's assumption of the Haldane power. No doubt he was prepared to do the same for Brion's son.

The Travlum party had been given the old royal apartments on second floor of the octagonal keep. These consisted of a large solar overlooking the forecourt, three bedchambers, several small mural chambers and a short gallery giving a view of the city beyond the castle walls. The rooms were well appointed, wainscoted in oak and hung with ancient tapestries - some dating back before the Interregnum - and luxuriously furnished but they were also well apart from the great wing containing the royal apartments and chief guest chambers, the isolation reflecting the wariness with which the ducal House of Travlum had always been treated.

The Duke and Duchess found their attendants busy unpacking. Cathan drew his two squires, young Perrin de Piran and his own son Crispin Earl of Cashien, both but fourteen years old into the sunny gallery. "Duke Alaric is unfortunately away," he told them, "which means the prince is unguarded against arcane threats."

Crispin's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "We're not like to be let near him. Not if the Queen has anything to say about it!"

His father smiled back, the familiar enigmatic smile that made both boys tense with eager excitement. "All too true. I must be seen but nobody will notice if you two are suddenly invisible."

Crispin and Perrin were grinning broadly, having successfully followed Cathan's line of thought. "And if we don't look like ourselves we can get close to Prince Kelson!" said Perrin.

"Exactly." Cathan raised a brow. "Nobody I think will notice two extra royal guards standing watch."

Crispin's grin broadened. "We'll see to it they don't, won't we Perry?"

Perrin nodded eager agreement.

There was nothing enigmatic about Cathan's smile now, it was pure sunshine. "I thought you'd feel that way." he reached out to draw Perrin, the nearer of the two, farther from the windows and lay his two hands upon his shoulders.

The young squire, gangly tall and not yet filled out, looked at his master with perfect confidence letting himself sink, unresisting, into the frost-fire depths of those smoky silver eyes, mind stilling to crystaline clarity and silence with the smoothness of long practice.

Duke Cathan murmured words igniting the pale ward fire around the three of them. His family had a number of stock figures used for shape-changings when not impersonating actual people; faces and forms of men and women long dead or completely imaginary. He allowed one such image - a thin, sandy haired young man with hazel eyes - to form in his mind then flow through his fingers to reshape the boy under his hands. He opened his eyes and Crinan, once squire to Cathan's ancestor and namesake, smiled back at him.

He lifted his hands. "Now Crispin." Another stock figure, slender and fair colored, one Eidiard of Clure whose form had disguised Davin MacRorie two hundred years before was invoked to hide the identity of Davin's many times great nephew.

Cathan looked at his work and found it good. "Now all we need are a couple of uniforms." he said.

Meanwhile Duchess Seffira changed her dress, assisted by her maid and her longtime companion Mariah Lady de Longeville, preparing herself to call upon Queen Jehana, a convention equally unwelcome to both ladies but required by court etiquette. The unruly, curling hair that was the bane of her life was pulled tightly back, pinned up in braids and covered entirely by a black velvet hood. The high necked gown was also of black velvet its long, close sleeves adorned with trailing 'weeper' cuffs that swept the floor when her hands hung at her sides. Her only jewel was a collar of massy gold with a pendant cross.

Seffira regarded her reflection in the long mirror without favor. Unadorned black was not a good color for redheads like herself. It gave her delicate complexion a washed out, transparent appearance and made her small, even features seem more childish then usual. She looked like a stricken waif - she who was all of forty-two years old, a wife for fifteen of them and mother of seven children! She grimaced at the image in the mirror and turned away.

Jehana received her unwelcome guest formally, sitting on her chair of state and wearing her crown above a thin, dark veil that fell to her lap, hiding her face. Her ladies, similarly veiled, stood behind her.

Confronted with this woman who'd never been her friend and refused her even common courtesy after learning of her Deryni blood, Seffira found herself able to think of nothing but how much Brion had loved this difficult princess and how happy she'd made him. "Your Majesty," she heard herself say in a warmer voice than she'd ever used towards Jehana, "you were the light of my dear lord and brother's life and I thank you from my heart for the joy you gave him."

Jehana gave a little gasp, as if pierced by an unexpected wound. It took her some moments to recover herself enough to stammer. "Th - Thank you for that, my Lady." her voice broke. "I loved him very much."

"As did I, though in a different way." Seffira answered, still gently. "You have a brother dear to you, Madam, you can imagine my grief. I dare not say I can comprehend yours."

A hand rose under the veil to press tightly against the shrouded mouth. Crystal drops spangled the gauzy fabric. Seffira waited a long moment as stifled sobs shook the slender shoulders. Finally recognizing that Jehana was unlikely to recover herself - and that there really was no more to be said between them - she asked softly; "Shall I go, Madam?"

The Queen nodded convulsively. Seffira made her curtsey and withdrew. "Well," she said to Mariah de Longeville as the door closed behind them. "That's done." she took a deep breath. "Now I want to see Brion." her voice shook. "I need to say good-bye to my brother."

Denis Arilan, auxillary bishop of Rhemuth, stood in a window embrasure of the gallery connecting the keep to Old Hall, pretending to read his breviary. A pair of youthful royal guards passed and he answered their respectful salute with a distracted gesture of blessing. Finally the man he was waiting for appeared, black mourning garb setting off his golden fairness, his long stride slowing then stopping as he saw Arilan.

A faint, ironic smile crooked Duke Cathan's lips. "My Lord Bishop."

Arilan didn't bother with the courtesies. "What are you doing here?"

Cathan snorted. "Oh come now! Not even the great and glorious council could expect me to stayed holed up in Travlum when one Haldane king is dead and another in mortal peril!"

The bishop folded his lips tightly. "You are bound not to interfere -"

"Am I?" Cathan challenged. "That promise was made, under duress by my grandfather and great grandfather. Tamarine is dead and her son too. The council has no more leverage."

Arilan's hands clenched, white knuckled, around his breviary. "You mean to defy us?"

"Not yet." Cathan answered coolly. "But should it prove necessary..." he left it hanging, an implicit threat. "And what exactly does the noble council intend to do about Charissa?"

Bishop Arilan flushed. "She's been ordered to desist."

Cathan rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, that'll intimidate her!"

"We can't act openly -" Arilan began defensively.

"The council didn't have any trouble acting covertly against my family!" Cathan's eyes narrowed. "Could it be they favor a return to Deryni rule in Gwynedd?"

Arilan went white with anger. "How dare you!"

Cathan ignored the interruption. "Because if so I would remind you that Charissa is not the rightful Festilic heir I am, through Salentina daughter of Marek II." his eyes glittered coldly and his lowered voice was weighted with menace. "And I am the Haldane heir after Kelson, Nigel and his sons. Would the council like to see me on the throne of Gwynedd?"

Denis Arilan was speechless, the hands clutching the breviary trembling visibly.

Duke Cathan nodded slowly. "If not then they better pray Charissa fails in her bid - or better still act to stop her - for if Kelson falls I swear by God and Saint Camber my forefather I will challenge and destroy her!"


	3. Chapter 3

Seffira of Travlum knelt beside the mortal remains of the king who had been as a brother to her, head bent and hands clasped in prayer. Brion's sarcophagus was still covered by the rich gold and crimson of the kingly pall with the great crown and long Haldane battle sword lying above where head and breast would be, their jewels flickering fire like the banks of votive candles.

Seffira reached out, trying to probe the body behind the polished alabaster but her opened senses were instantly flooded with overwhelming impressions of grief left by generations of royal mourners. Sifting through them she found her mother's presence and the almost as familiar ones of King Donal and Queen Richeldis. Sinking deeper she even caught faint echoes of ancient violence; the long ago clash between a rebellious Deryni queen and usurping Human lords that had finally ended the bitter captivity of King Cinhil's heirs.

But all she could sense of Brion was the memory of his grief as he buried brothers, a sister, father, and finally an infant daughter. If his soul was still bound to his dead body - a real possibility as magic seldom killed clean - she could detect no trace of it. Which meant either he was free - or the stone was blocking her arcane senses.

Surfacing she was immediately aware of two well shielded Deryni presences behind her. One was, of course, Mariah. The other was less familiar but still instantly recognizable. She raised her head but did not turn. "Hello, Denis."

"Seffira." she heard him take a deep, bracing breath. "I need your help."

"You, or your council?" she stood, spinning to face him with a curling smile reminiscent of her husband's. "You I am more than willing to do a favor or two, my dear Denis. The Camberian Council, never!"

Arilan all but wrung his hands, his usual composure shattered. Seffira correctly guessed by whom. "Cathan has put a flea in your ear and so you come running to me." she gave a short laugh. "As if I don't have as little reason to love the council my husband!"

Turning in a swirl of skirt she flitted past Brion's catafalque to run light, caressing fingers over the beautifully carved image of a venerable bearded king stretched out atop a neighboring tomb. "Your precious council did everything in their power to ruin my mother's life." she reminded him, eyes flashing up to bore accusingly to his, "And they would have spoiled mine too if King Donal hadn't prevented - as my own father would not!"

the Bishop closed his eyes briefly trying to gather his composure. "Sief married your mother as a safeguard -"

Her bitter laugh interrupted him. "The great and noble council felt threatened by an eleven year old girl! Yet my father was a decent man, he might have made Mother happy if his colleagues hadn't taken every opportunity to poison his mind against her - and his own daughters too!" The violet eyes blazed with an old, un-assuaged anger. Your council saw to it he was afraid to love any of us!"

"A confrontation between the council and the Circle will benefit no one." Arilan said desperately. "Prince Kelson least of all!"

Seffira's lip curled. "And the council is just fool enough to regard us as a greater threat than Charissa." she considered. "Very well, Denis, you have my word that the Circle will only intervene if for some reason Duke Alaric is unable to perform the empowerment ritual." she smiled. "Which means you'd better do all you can to smooth his way!"

"So I have always intended." Arilan answered, calming.

Abruptly she changed the subject. "Did you do a death reading on Brion?"

The Bishop shook his head. "No. I had no chance. The body was never left unguarded, not even for a moment."

Seffira gnawed her lip. "I'm worried, Denis. He died by magic and such deaths aren't always... as final as they could be."

Grief and remembered pain flitted across his face. "I felt him die, Seffira."

Her expression softened. "I know you loved him too. And it's not that I doubt you. But still I'd feel better if somebody did a reading."

Arilan turned a troubled look on the candle banked catafalque. "I would too. I'll make an opportunity, maybe when they install the image after the coronation."

"I can see it wouldn't be exactly prudent to do it now." she agreed ruefully.

The eight members of the Camberian council; two women, one old, one young, and six men all robed in formal violet and gold, sat in their places beneath the faceted amethystine dome listening intently to Denis Arilan's report:

"Duke Cathan then reminded me that he is the rightful Festilic heir, as well as the Haldane heir after King Donal's descendants. And added that failure to stop Charissa might well put him on Gwynedd's throne!" Carefully chosen though his words were they immediately threw his fellow councilors into a tizzy.

"Jesus Christ forefend!" the redheaded Lady Kyri gasped, eyes round with horror as she crossed herself.

"He threatens us!" her neighbor, the blandly self indulgent Thorne Hagen, sputtered. "He dares to threaten the council!"

Young Tiercel de Claron gave a crow of what might have been laughter. "Threaten nothing! He's right. He is the next heir - and Festilic heir too - we'd have no choice but to acknowledge him!"

"Cathan on the throne would be disastrous." the aged, blind and usually serene coadjutor Barret de Laney was visibly shaken. "It would destroy our influence in Gwynedd and leave the Circle completely unopposed!"

"They are already more powerful than we in the western lands and Bremagne." Laran ap Pardyce agreed, all but wringing his hands.

Stefan Coram, the cool eyed and silver haired, second coadjutor tapped the council table with his ivory rod. "Peace my lords and ladies all! Charissa is the danger we are met to discuss, not the Circle. Who, I remind you, will only become a threat if she succeeds in her plans. Denis, continue your report."

Arilan took breath and marshaled his thoughts. "I spoke next to his duchess, Seffira MacAthan -."

This time it was the elderly and matriarchal Vivienne de Jordanet who broke in: "That marriage is a nightmare, Haldane and Festil crossed with the blood of Lewys ap Norfal! Seven children being taught God knows what in those rogue Western Scholae."

"You forgot MacRorie," Tiercel reminded her.

"Renegade MacRorie!" she snapped back across the table.

"Are they?" Tiercel demanded. "Or could we be the renegades rejecting our founder's ideals which his heirs uphold?"

Stefan covered his eyes with his hand in a silent but eloquent gesture of despair. Arilan sent him a quick impression of commiseration as he settled resignedly back in his chair to observe the inevitable fireworks.

"Always you take their part!" Kyri, the next to youngest member of the Council flared at the youngest. "One would think you were their agent planted among us!"

Tiercel, unimpressed, rolled his almond colored eyes. "Such paranoia! One might think you hysterical, my dear Kyri."

"You don't live in the midst of the renegades as we do." Laran ap Pardyce said over the lady's indignant sputters. "Kyri and I are forced to witness at first hand their meddling in forbidden practices and their indiscriminate training of part-bloods and even full humans."

"Saint Camber himself, by all accounts, was inclined to explore our powers to their limits and it was he who conferred Deryni powers upon the Haldane line." Tiercel shrugged. "One might argue his descendants are simply following his footsteps."

"You challenge this council's right to regulate and discipline our people?" Vivienne demanded in an awful voice.

"Not at all." Tiercel replied blithely, "I merely suggest it has become to close minded and exclusive in its practices." his face darkened. "And let us not forget it was our distinguished predecessors who started this feud. It was they who resorted to kidnapping and extortion to enforce their will. How ethical was that?"

"The council then did what it thought necessary for the good of our people -" Barrett began heavily.

"Or to secure their own power." Tiercel interrupted and was immediately drowned out by hot protests from Vivienne, Kyri and Laran - Barrett, perhaps significantly, held his peace. "Whatever their motives it was they who opened this breech," Tiercel continued when he could make himself heard, "therefore it is logically for us, their successors, to close it. This feuding only makes our people's position more precarious. The Circle is said to practice many arts and skills we have lost - surely a reconciliation would benefit us all."

"It would be the end of all discipline and tradition!" Kyri cried.

"And unloose who knows what forbidden knowledge to the common throng." Vivienne added as vehemently.

"If you could see the confusion of Human and Deryni that the Circle has unloosed in Travlum and the Connait, Tiercel, you would understand just how destructive they are." Laran argued. "They must be subdued or destroyed, not treated with!"

"At the very least this council would lose its standing as sole arbitrator of our people, and at worse lose all influence over them!" said Thorne.

"The authority of the council must not be compromised." Barrett agreed.

Tiercel drew breath to rebut and was silenced by the sharp rapping of Stefan's baton. "Enough! We are met to discuss the schemes of Charissa de Tolan, not the Circle! Denis, what did the Lady Seffira have to say?"

"She promised that the Circle would hold aloof unless their involvement became necessary to secure the new king's empowerment."

Tiercel leaned forward eagerly. "You think they could successfully perform the ritual?"

Arilan grimaced. "I see no reason to doubt it. They are Camber's heirs after all. It is very possible that some memory of his discoveries survive amongst them."

"Which is more than we can claim!"

"Enough!" Stefan frowned warningly at Tiercel. "Clearly the time has come for more active measures against the Duchess Charissa. Suggestions?"

"Unfortunately she has no children to be kidnapped and held hostage." Tiecel said dryly.

"Silence!" Stefan snapped before anybody could respond. "I will have no more of this bickering!"

Tiercel bent his stiff neck - reluctantly. "If I have offended I ask pardon."

The coadjutor nodded acceptance but leveled an icy eye on the opposing side of the table. "You are not the only one to offend against the decorum of this council, my lord." Kyri looked mutinous, Laran and Thorne apologetic and the Lady Vivienne vented a little snort but kept her lips closed. Satisfied, Stefan raised his stern gaze. "I ask again for suggestions."

"I suppose it's no use appealing to Wencit?" Thorne ventured after a long moment.

Stefan shook his head decisively. "None at all. He has made it quite clear he supports Charissa's bid. This invasion he's planning is intended to aid her."

"Charissa is guilty of regicide." Barrett said in slow and passionless tones. "There can be little doubt she used black magic to accomplish her aim. This council is not only empowered to punish such crimes but required to do so."

"But how?" Thorne all but wailed.

Arilan sighed to himself. Often he wondered what had possessed the council to chose so timorous a replacement for the Princess Sofiana. Still Thorne's over-caution was a good balance to the hotheadedness of certain other members.

"I propose Laran, Tiercel, and I formally charge her Highness the Duchess of Tolan with the murder of King Brion of Gwynedd." Barrett stated firmly. "We will then bring her back to these chambers so the council may hear her defense and make judgment." Tiercel gave a low, astonished whistle and Barrett turned blind but vividly green eyes on him. "You dissent, my lord?"

"No! No. I am merely impressed by such uncharacteristic decisiveness!"

A hint of a smile touched the elder councilor's face. "I have been, in my time, a man of action. Is this proposal agreeable to the council?"

"Yes." said the Lady Vivienne. "Time we put an end, once and for all, to these Festilic fooleries!"

"Yes." said Lady Kyri, nodding her flaming head. Thorne and Laran also signaled agreement.

Stefan Coram glanced at Arilan. "Denis?"

"I agree wholeheartedly with my Lord Barrett's proposal, but because of my close involvement with the crime I must decline to take part in the judgment." Such was the law, but he had no fears of Charissa escaping her just desserts in this assembly. Despite Cathan's accusation no one on the Camberian council wished to see the Festils restored to the Gwyneddan throne.

"The measure proposed by my Lord Barrett passes unanimously." Coram stated formally. "The delegation named will depart at once to summon the accused to trial. Denis, will you withdraw or do you wish to remain as a witness?"

"I would bear witness, my lord." Arilan replied firmly.

Barrett rose, made a slight bow to the council and swept out, trailed by Tiercel and Laran. Those who remained shifted in their seats, Kyri leaning over Thorne to whisper to Vivienne. Stefan lay back in his chair, pale gray eyes dreamy and unfocused as he mentally reviewed the precedents and procedures for trials before the council. Arilan fixed his eyes on the great sparkling crystal hanging above the center of the council table and let out a breath, triggering the first stages of trance. He wanted to be calm and centered when he confronted the murderer of his King, his penitent - and his friend.


	4. Chapter 4

The royal chapel was an exquisite miniature cathedral of white marble, jeweled with stained glass and hung, like the great hall, with the banners of peers and royal knights. But for all that it was not a popular place of devotion, most denizens of the palace prefered the basilica. Thus the chapel mass was not well attended. In fact Joscelin, Sir Berardin and Delrae almost had the place to themselves - almost.

"Corpus Domine nostri Iesu Christi custodiat te in vitam aeternam."

Joscelin swallowed the Blessed Sacrament and retired to his faldstool striving to keep his focus entirely on the final prayers and not let his consciousness drift to the man kneeling a few feet away. Here he'd been worrying over how to contact Duke Cathan without riling Aunt Jehana - who disliked him only a little less than Alaric Morgan - he should have known the Master would find a way.

Splinters of colored light from the east window fell over the bent golden head and black mourning like a jeweled veil as Cathan listened reverently to the communion-verse. A groom in the blue and red MacAthan tartan knelt behind him but he was otherwise unattended.

The five of them had the royal chapel to themselves. Extending his senses Joscelin detected six or twelve worshippers in the household chapel below the rood screen but they filed out immediately upon the words: "Go, the Mass is ended."

Joscelin crossed himself a final time and rose. Duke Cathan's voice came mellow to his ear. "Good morning, your highness." the formal tone for the benefit of the acolytes still busy about the altar.

The Prince allowed himself a smile as he responded; "Your grace."

"This sudden loss has been grievous for us all." Cathan continued. "As I missed the funeral I thought offer some prayers for King Brion's soul now. Would you care to join me?"

For an instant tears threatened as Joscelin remembered again just why he was here. He hadn't known his uncle well enough to mourn more than formally in his own right but Aunt Jehana's grief and Kelson's tore at his heart. As did the danger threatening them both. He bowed his head in assent and together they moved towards an oriel-like shrine, bathed in many hued light, on the south wall.

The royal chapel was dedicated to the Haldane Saints: this most prominent of the side altars was dedicated to King Bearand. His painted and gilded statue depicted a warrior-king, armed cap-a-pie and holding a banner ensigned with the cross of St. George.

Joscelin took a candle from the nearby rack, leaving a gold mark in its place, lit it and set it before the saint. Cathan followed suit and they both bowed their heads in prayer.

'Holy Bearand, King and Confessor, pray for Brion of Gwynedd dead unjustly.' the Master's thought came strong and clear into Joscelin's mind. 'I heard from Stefan Coram last night. The news was not good.'

An image of Coram, a man Joscelin had never met in body though they had once or twice touched in mind through the Circle, appeared vibrating troubled concern: 'She's gone, Cathan. God only knows where. She's not at her palace in Beldour nor Castle Tol. Barrett questioned the servants but they knew nothing. We've lost her.'

'Oh God. Charissa could be anywhere!' Joscelin moaned in silent dismay.

'In theory. But my guess is she's not so far from here.' came the Master's cool thought.

They crossed to the second shrine, dedicated to Isabel of Carbury. The northern side chapels were excavated into the curtain wall and lit only by loopholes high above. The saint's image was habited in grey and black but with gold encrusted cope-like mantle over and a princely coronet on her white veil. The clouded crystal inlays of her eyes reflected their candle flames, eerily lifelike.

'Holy Isabel, Widow and Confessor, pray for the soul of Brion of Gwynedd and defend King Kelson from his enemies.' Cathan prayed.

'Amen!' Joscelin thought fervently. Unlike St. Bearand here he felt, or imagined, a distinct touch in response. A sense of a presence, maternal and practical and oddly reassuring. It wasn't impossible; Isabel Haldane had been a very early member of the Circle and such links were known to last beyond life. He asked Cathan, 'You know where Charissa is?'

'Unfortunately no. But she had to have been very close when she killed Brion. My guess is she has a hiding place within a few miles of Rhemuth.'

'Anything or anybody could be concealed in the King's Forest.' Joscelin agreed unhappily.

'I know. I have ordered a search. In time we will find her -'

'But time is just what we don't have.'

'Exactly.' Cathan directed a glance and a wry smile upward at the interested, inclined face of the image. "Help us sweet Isabel!'

No doubt she would. But even Saints have their limits.

The final altar was dedicated to the Blessed Alroy-Aurelius, son of Saint Isabel. His statue was vested as a bishop in a crimson chasuble emblazoned with the Haldane lion, the dalmatic hem showing beneath bordured with praying angels, gold on blue.

Again they went through the motions of offering candles as Cathan silently invoked the beatus; 'Blessed Alroy-Aurelius, bishop and confessor, pray for the soul of Brion of Gwynedd and help us seek out the enemies of our King.' a hundred and forty odd years ago Archbishop Aurelius had used his powers of sight to support King Jasher Haldane against an earlier Festillic pretender. Joscelin was as confident of the beatus' interest and support as he was of Saint Isabel's and any inspiration Aurelius could send would be more than welcome.

Cathan continued: 'Stay close to Kelson, Joscelin. I've already set Crispin and Perrin to watch him -' he sent images of their current appearances - 'but you can get nearer. Spend as much time with him as you can."

'Poor Kel, I think he'll be grateful for the company.' Joscelin replied. 'But surely Charissa intends an open challenge?'

"Probably.' was the grim answer. 'But she killed the father by stealth - we can't be certain of her plans. Crispin and Perrin will be as close at hand as they dare.'

Joscelin sent wordless assent, apprehension tightening his throat. And here he'd been thinking Kelson was safe until the coronation!

Warm reassurance and confidence flowed from the Master's mind. 'You are young but gifted and very well trained. There will be three of you on guard and I will be only a call away.'

Joscelin welcomed the offered comfort, letting the fear and worry wash out of him.

'I'm glad Roxana is here.' the Master continued. 'We need somebody near the Queen as well.'

Her nephew could only agree. 'She's in total denial according to Kelson. Irrational. She might do anything.'

'An attempt to keep Morgan away from Kelson is almost certain. We may have to intervene to prevent that.'

'What about the Council?' Joscelin asked uneasily.

'I gave them fair warning.' was the chill reply. 'If they try to stop us they must be dealt with - in any way necessary.'

The prince shivered. That would mean open war against the Camberian Council, something the Circle had sought to avoid for three generations now.

Duchess Seffira had elected to hear mass in the basilica that morning. Monsignor Duncan McLain was the celebrant and the new King was present, looking very young and vulnerable in his black mourning. Prince Nigel and his duchess flanked Kelson on either side but the Queen did not attend - court gossip claimed she hadn't been seen outside her new ground floor apartments since the funeral. Crispin and Perrin were also present in their own persons. They had to make a few public appearances or Arilan at least might start to wonder. Now the spell was set they could switch back and forth at will. They would resume their disguises and their watch over the young king after the service.

The mass ended and Seffira quickly lost track of the royal party as she moved against the tide of departing worshippers towards Duncan McLain's study. She was thus quite startled to find Kelson there before her, waiting for his confessor huddled forlornly in a chair by the fire. He came to his feet at the sight of her.

She dipped a respectful curtsey. "Excuse me, your majesty, I didn't mean to intrude."

He sucked in a breath at the unfamiliar form of address. But royal training told as he regained control and turned formally gracious. "Not at all, your grace. I assume you wanted to see Father Duncan too?"

"I thought he might like news of his sister. I had a letter from Zoe the day before -" she broke off as Kelson swallowed sudden tears. After a moment she continued gently. "I think the sudden death of a loved one must be the hardest thing in the world to bear. No time to prepare or to say good-bye..."

"I'm sorry you missed the funeral," the young king blurted. "Mother -" he broke off awkwardly.

"She wanted to get it over and done with." Seffira finished for him. "I understand. I might have felt the same in her place." it was a very charitable interpretation of Jehana's motives and Kelson accepted it with relief. Suddenly, impulsively she said. "Sire, if you need help, magical help, I am Deryni."

He was a little startled. "I know your mother -"

"And my father." Seffira smiled. "I am full Deryni, and rather well trained." An understatement that!

"King Donal -" Kelson began uncertainly.

"Was not my father whatever gossip may claim!" Seffira laughed briefly. " I am the legitimate daughter of Sief MacAthan, and he was as Deryni as my mother."

Other implications dawned on the young king. "Then your husband -?"

"Also has the Blood on both sides for two generations." Kelson blinked, absorbing that information as she continued: "We are your loyal subjects, sire, and your kin. If we can help in any way you need only ask."

"I - I appreciate that, Aunt Seffira." he answered, at last reverting to the name Brion had taught him to give her when he was a child.

At that moment the door opened and Duncan entered, stopping in surprise on the threshold at the sight of two visitors. Seffira made another curtsey. "I will wait until your majesty is finished." she said and quickly withdrew leaving the two alone.

She walked past Crispin and Perrin, back in disguise and standing guard at the transcept entrance ready to follow Kelson when he left, and went to the Lady chapel to light candles for the dead king and the living and pray fervently for both. Finishing her devotions she returned to nave to wait.

'Mother.'

At the touch of her son's mind she turned her steps from the pew where Mariah and her maid were waiting and moved instead towards the high altar, kneeling as near Crispin as she dared and bowing her head in a pretense of prayer.

'Yes, dear?'

'There are two Queen's guards five rows back," he sent a quick image of the men, crimson uniformed with Jehana's cross-crosslet badge on their shoulders, "and they are not here for religious reasons. Maybe you'd rather they didn't tell Jehana you've spoken with Kelson?'

'Or with Duncan.' she agreed grimly. 'Thank you, dear.' She crossed herself, rose and retreated to her pew. A brief exchange of mind-speech and Mariah was rising from her place to walk up the aisle towards the poor box.

Coming abreast of the two Queen's guards she caught her toe in a wrinkle of carpet and stumbled falling heavily to her knees, purse flying from her hand to scatter silver royals all over the aisle.

Instantly both guards were on their feet, one helping her up and asking if she was all right; the other collecting the purse and spilled money. Mariah gave a perfect imitation of a slightly scatty, middle aged noblewoman; blushing, fluttering, apologizing and thanking, before continuing on her way to deposit her the purse in the poor box. Behind her the guards resumed their posture of devotion unaffected by the incident - or so it would seem.

Mariah returned to her place beside Seffira. A short time later Kelson and Duncan emerged from the transcept passage, the boy with a better color and lighter step. He gave Seffira a quick smile as he passed which she returned. Neither Kelson nor Duncan paid the slightest attention to the pair of royal guards who detached themselves from the wall to follow the new king out, not even noticing them.

Duncan stopped beside Seffira's pew. "Kelson tells me you have news of Zoe. I take it she and Davin are still in Corwyn?" he said sitting down beside her.

She nodded. "The letter was written before Brion's death of course. All was going well then, but I'm afraid Bronwyn is going to have her hands full protecting the eastern border now."

The priest nodded grim agreement. "I'm sure having Zoe and Davin at hand with be a great comfort to her."

"As moral support at least. Of course Duke Alaric's officers will be more than capable of handling any incursions."

Military ones that is. Magical might be a different story. Bronwyn de Morgan was a null factor arcanely speaking. She'd received the same rather sketchy training as her brother and cousins from the late Duchess Vera but according to Zoe Bronwyn made absolutely no use of her powers, apparently determined to be accepted by humans as a human. Given that she was betrothed to Duncan and Zoe's very human half-brother that might be a wise personal choice and with Zoe McLain and her husband Davin MacAthan at hand to repel anything Wencit could summon Corwyn would be safe enough. Which might be more than could be said for Duncan McLain.

"Duncan," Seffira said delicately, "have you seen those two guards wearing the Queen's badge?"

He smiled crookedly. "Daily. Ever since Brion was buried."

Seffira gave a little sigh. "You know then. Good."

"Queen Jehana has always regarded me as a bad influence I'm afraid." Duncan said wryly.

"You are cousin to a Deryni." She said flatly. "That alone would be enough to rouse her distrust." Jehana of course didn't even suspect that Duncan was also Deryni. Nor did he know that Seffira knew - and she didn't want him to. "Be careful, Duncan. And tell Morgan to be careful too."

That got a snort from the priest.

Seffira smiled a little. "I know. Alaric Morgan is not exactly noted for his prudence."

"To put it mildly!"

She got to her feet. "Don't worry. The Queen won't learn of Kelson's visit, or our conversation." Duncan glanced at her startled and she smiled. "I'm Deryni too, Duncan, remember?" she pretended to interpret his startled expression as concern. "Don't worry, I won't hurt them, just a little rearrangement of memory, nothing more." she tilted her head back to look straight into his blue eyes. "I told Kelson, and now I tell you; if Cathan and I can be of any help at all, to you, to Kelson or to Morgan, please don't hesitate to ask."

"I - thank you." he managed, clearly not entirely sure how to take her offer.

With a final smile Seffira left him, pausing briefly to release the controls Mariah had set in the two guardsmen before leaving the church.

"I think it might be wise to set a watch of our own on Duncan." she said quietly to her two attendants as they walked through the gardens towards the entrance to palace buildings. "A move against him is not entirely impossible."

"From Charissa or from the Queen?" Mariah asked.

"Either or both." Seffira answered grimly.

NOTES:

For readers of 'A Princess of Haldane', yes this is Belle Draper and her son Alroy.

'Zoe McLain' is of course an original character - this is AU, remember? She has been raised as Duncan's sister but she is in fact Bronwyn's fraternal twin. Vera and Alyce deciding to pull the same trick as their parents had so one Morgan child at least could grow up safe and unsuspected of being Deryni. Davin is Cathan MacAthan's younger brother. Zoe inherited the Barony of Eirial from her godmother Zoe Morgan de Corwyn de Chandos, whose jointure it was, and her family normally winters there. Summers are spent on her Cassani fief, Mormaer, and the annual journeys between enable the couple to regularly inspect Davin's estates in the Purple March.


	5. Chapter 5

The Princess Roxana knew and loathed the usual feminine chitter-chatter about the cut of a gown or setting of a jewel, love affairs and matchmaking, but even that would have been preferable to the nervous whispers she was carefully pretending not to overhear as she sat, stitching industriously at a pattern of honeysuckle and oak leaves of colored silks on stretched linen, in her aunt's withdrawing room.

"Even if Duke Alaric could somehow kill the King with his magic all the way from Cardosa why would he?" Jaine de Nohaut demanded softly, her golden head close to the Baroness MacInnis' black wimple.

The older woman's mouth set in a grim line. "For power of course, what else have the Deryni ever conspired for?"

"He had power!" Lady Estafania argued from the baroness' other side. "He was King Brion's right hand, his most trusted lord!"

"But Brion was a grown man with a will of his own. No doubt Duke Alaric looks forward to wrapping our Prince round his little finger - unless the Queen can stop him!"

Angrily jabbing her needle a little too forcefully into the cloth Roxana accidently stabbed her own finger and popped it quickly into her mouth tasting the salty blood.

"What about the Shadowed One?" Lady Jaine was asking. "She was the King's enemy right, enough and full Deryni where the Duke is only half!"

Baroness MacInnis snorted. "Half blood or full all Deryni are the same. No doubt it's the both of them together!"

Roxana snorted over her embroidery. Oh yes, very likely Charissa would join forces with the man who'd help Brion kill her father! All alike indeed!

The ladies, clustered together well away from Roxana's window seat, separated as the outer door opened and rose to make their curtseys to the grizzled, purple wrapped bear-like mass of the Right Reverend Patrick Corrigan, Archbishop of Rhemuth. Roxana slid off her seat to go down in a small, dutiful reverence of her own as the prelate sketched a cross in the air with a few perfunctory words of blessing. The inner door to the queen's chamber was opened by her confessor, Monsignor Norreys, and the Archbishop swept inside trailed by his secretary.

As the ladies settled, whispering excitedly, back into their places Roxana pushed aside her embroidery frame, slipped out the garden door and down the graveled path to the rose covered pergola adjoining the bedchamber. Silently lifting the latch of the iron gate she stepped into the sun speckled shadows as the scent of roses wrapped her round.

The inner door was open and Aunt Jehana's voice came clearly: "Enough, Your Grace - is there evidence of heresy or is there not?"

"Evidence, no," Corrigan answered heavily, "but certainly there are grounds for strong suspicion; his Deryni ancestry, his known dabbling in forbidden arts -"

"Will you make a formal accusation before the council?" the Queen demanded.

"Gladly, if that is Your Majesty's pleasure."

"Pleasure no," she answered grimly. "I do what I must, Your Grace, for the sake of my son, I will not lose him as I lost his father -!" her voice broke.

"You must not give way to despair, Daughter," that was Norreys, "you must trust to God's love and His infinite mercy. Whatever King Brion's sins his virtues were surely greater. Wouldnt you agree, Your Grace?"

The Archbishop hemmed. "The Queen's Majesty must pray, we must all pray for the late King."

Roxana bit her tongue in indignation. They were talking as if Uncle Brion had been some great sinner - even Aunt Jehana!

"I do pray for him, Your Grace," the Queen's voice came hard and fierce, "and I have almost every hour since his death. But I do not forgive the man who threatened Brion's salvation - and I will not let him do the same to Kelson. Morgan is guilty of treason against both God and King and he will pay for his crimes!"

The young princess mouthed a soundless: 'Oh no!'

It wasn't just the Queen's ladies who were talking, the whole court was alive with whispers of evil sorcery and Deryni treachery all centering on the flawlessly loyal but undeniably Deryni Alaric Morgan.

Duke Cathan strolled slowly down the long, south facing terrace overlooking the formal gardens. The lords and ladies of the court surrounded him taking the air, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and talking, talking. Voices stilled as Cathan passed and eyes slid sidelong following him. Morgan might be the current object of their suspicions but the Duke of Travlum's Deryni blood had not been forgotten - or forgiven. He spotted his fellow duke, Jared of Cassan, standing by the balustrade with young Kevin, his heir, and moved towards them.

"My lords." he said pleasantly as the two men bowed. They were much alike; both tall and brown haired with clear blue eyes. The father was somewhat grizzled and the son clean shaven and their black mourning was brightened by the McLain plaids slung over broad shoulders. Cathan looked the father full in the eye. "Well, Jared, what say you of Alaric Morgan?" He knew full well that few men could sustain the piercing gaze of his lucent, light-filled eyes without flinching or glancing away.

But the McLain withstood it, spine stiffening as he looked straightly back. "I say he is a man of honor, faithful to both God and his king whatever blood may be in his veins!" added a touch defiantly: "What would you expect his kinsman and foster father to say?"

Cathan relaxed into one of his rare smiles, the hint of power and menace melting away like mist before the sun. "Just that. And I agree wholeheartedly."

"Then you're one of the few who does." Kevin said grimly. He nodded disgustedly towards the eddying crowd of black clad courtiers. "Look at them, a few rumors and they're acting like children afraid of demons under the bed! I tell you, sir, this talk is going to do real harm if it isn't stopped."

"It's gone beyond talk." the three men turned to see Ewan, Duke of Claibourne, Gwynedd's Earl Marshal had appeared beside them, craggy face grim under its thatch of red hair. He thrust a parchment at Jared, "Yer not going to like this, McLain, but dinna blame me, I had naught to do with it."

Jared unrolled the document. Looking over his shoulder Cathan ran a quick eye down it. It was a formal deed of indictment subscribed by the queen regent and countersigned by Archbishop Corrigan, Bran Coris and Rogier de Fallon making up the necessary quorum of councilors. It charged Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of Corwyn, Earl of Lendour and Lord General of his majesty's armies with misprison of treason and suspicion of heresy.

The breath hissed between Kevin's clenched teeth as he read over his father's other shoulder. "Has she gone mad? She can't do this!"

"Oh the queen's not mad," Cathan said softly, the hint of silken menace back in the mellow music of his voice. "Obsessed, even fanatical, but not mad."

"And she can do it and has." Jared let the parchment snap closed, glared at the marshal. "Do you believe this trash, Ewan?"

He looked away uncomfortably. "I dinna know what to believe anymore." then snuck a shamefaced look at his indignant fellow duke. "Warn him off, Jared. Tell the boy to stay away and give matters a chance to settle."

"You were at Llegoddin when Brion faced the Marluk weren't you, Claibourne?" Cathan said, low and dangerous. "You know what Alaric Morgan did then - and what he must do now. Or have you forgotten the Shadowed One?"

"No reason to think she had aught to do with the king's death." Ewan mumbled even more unhappily.

"And you think, Alaric had?" Kevin demanded, voice rising. "For God's sake he loved Brion like a brother or a father!"

"I know that!" Ewan shouted back. "Or thought I did." he regained control of himself with an effort. "Keep Alaric away, Jared, as he values his life for that paper says it's forfeit the moment he sets foot at court." Claibourne turned on his heel and stalked off, stiff-legged, between courtiers who quickly pretended they hadn't been watching and listening to every word.

Cathan took the crumpled document from Jared and read it through carefully. "A great deal of verbiage," was his verdict, "but a notable lack of evidence."

"Corrigan, Bran and Rogier didn't need evidence." Duke Jared said grimly.

"You, Father, me, Nigel and Ralson make four for Alaric." Kevin counted on his fingers. "And Ralson may be able to bring Rogier over too. Where does Howell stand?"

"Where he sees the most advantage." Jared said cynically.

Kevin snorted agreement - everybody knew that about Eastmarch's Earl - and went on telling off councilors. "The bishops will be against Alaric of course, because of the Deryni issue -"

"Not I think Arilan," Cathan broke in, "he's young and open minded. But I agree with you about the Archbishops. Loris is an out and out persecutor, and Corrigan would have been had Brion allowed it."

Kevin gave him a crooked smile. "Pity you're not on the council."

Cathan let irony quirk his lips. "Unfortunately my duties as warden of the western marches -"

"Are just a convenient excuse, as we all know." Jared interrupted him.

"True." Cathan agreed, unruffled. "I too suffer from the taint of Deryni blood, which gives me a certain fellow feeling for your wayward kinsman."

Jared laughed shortly. "But you're far more discrete about your heritage and your powers - assuming you have any."

If it was a question Cathan didn't answer it. "The wisdom of age, my friend. Morgan will come to it - if he lives long enough!"

"Why is she doing this?" Joscelin demanded, frantically pacing the carpeted floor of the guest solar. "Is she trying to get Kelson killed?"

"Queen Jehana does not see the situation as we do." the Master replied a little dryly from the window seat. "Sit down, my prince, and calm yourself." Joscelin flopped into one of the two chairs flanking the cavernous green marble fireplace. Roxana occupied the other, swinging her small slippers some inches above the floor. Cathan sat across from them in a window overlooking the gardens and Sir Berardin stood nearby in silent attendance. "For your aunt this is an opportunity to break Morgan's hold over Kelson and bring her son back to God."

"But that's not how it is at all!" Roxana cried. "Charissa is the danger, not General Morgan! Why doesn't she see that."

"Because she's so damnably convinced that Deryni are evil." her brother answered, turned to the Master. "What if we remove the block - make her face who and what she really is?"

Berardin made an abortive movement of dissent, Cathan caught it and nodded agreement. "I doubt it would help, Joscelin. Jehana rejected her nature and her heritage, reminding her of them isn't likely to change her decision."

"Maybe I could talk to her?" Roxana suggested diffidently, adding defensively at her brother's snort; "She's very fond me of me. I might be able to make her understand what's really happening."

Cathan did her the courtesy of seriously considering her offer but finally shook his head. "Jehana is acting out deeply held convictions. I doubt anybody can get through to her, princess, even you."

"If she won't listen to her own son, why would she listen to you?" asked Joscelin.

"Then what are we going to do?" Roxana half-wailed. "We can't let Aunt Jehana execute Duke Alaric!"

"You, little one, will continue to stay close to the Queen and keep us informed of any developments." the Duke answered crisply and decisively. "Joscelin will go on guarding Kelson along with Crispin and Perrin." A wry smile quirked his lips. "I will do everything in my power to help the McLains sway the council. And if worse comes to worse we will use magic to defend both the king and his champion."


	6. Chapter 6

The solar chamber of the palace Keep was richly decorated as became a former royal apartment. Priceless tapestries embellished with gold and silver thread glimmered above the time darkened panels of the wainscot. The floor was spread with a huge Kheldish carpet patterned in jewel bright hues echoing the painted and gilded decorations of the long table dormant, the small table before the hearth and the many armchairs and stools. But it was dimly lit by the fire, exhaling sweet apple scent, in the cavernous fireplace and the pale sunlight from three small windows set in deep embrasures in the curved outer wall.

The Duchess Seffira sat on the cushioned stone bench of the centermost embrasure facing her companion the Lady Mariah. The latter sat close to the window intent on the delicate repairs she was making, catching up the time frayed gilt threads of the embroidered lioncels powdering her mistress's deep blue robe of estate. A book lay ignored in Seffira's lap her eye caught and held by the tumult and kaleidoscopic color in the main court below.

The brilliant silks and velvets of noble attire rivaled the liveries of the retainers running their errands and unloading their baggage from pack mule and wagon the whole in constant motion circulating between gate and hall. Footmen forced a way through the crowd for sedan chairs and horse litters, the latter lurching as the animals carrying them shied and danced. And off in a corner a fight was brewing between a crowd of squires and pages in the colors of assorted Forcinn states.

A blast of trumpets from the direction of the gate presaged a number of outriders clearing a path to the foot of the hall stair for an elegant coach with gilded woodwork and the arms of the Countess of Carbury emblazoned on the doors. A harried looking chamberlain wriggled his way between the lords and ladies crowding the steps to receive her ladyship with a deep bow and usher her into the Great Hall.

No sooner had the coach been drawn away in the direction of the stables than a second blare of trumpets announced yet another distinguished visitor, Rhemuth's massive archbishop sat like a sack of purple and miniver in the saddle of a sturdy grey horse preceded by acolytes bearing crozier and mitre and followed by a pack of clerics on foot. His grace waved a perfunctory blessing over the crowd before vanishing through a side door.

Flaming orange and the leaping hart in black and silver marked the retinue of the Torenthi crown representative and a blaze of loud color including the violet and green _lozengy_ that were the official colors of the united kingdoms of Howicce and Llanned proclaimed that ambassador's arrival. Seffira's eye was drawn by yet another flash of orange, clashing with the grizzled red head of dear old Duke Ewan climbing the steps to the great doors of the hall with Bran Coris in the blue and white of Marley and Ian of Eastmarch in his usual dark gold trailing in the ducal wake.

Mariah leaned forward to touch her mistress' arm; "My lady."

Seffira followed her glance to a tall figure in dusty black topped by a pale blaze of golden hair over near the stables and breathed a sigh of relief. "He's here." Laying her left hand on the stone window sill she focused on lucent yellow nugget set in the gold of her wedding ring. The latent link with her husband flared to life.

"_Morgan has arrived at last, Cathan."_

"_And not before time,"_ came the slightly grim answering thought. _"Where is he headed?"_

"_For the hall – oh dear!"_

"_What?"_

Grimacing Seffira sent an image of Alaric Morgan posing and posturing menacingly before the gaping doors of the hall. _"That boy!'_

Cathan gave a rueful mental chuckle:_"Oh my. Not in a conciliatory mood then."_

"_To say the least!"_

"_I'll do what I can to smooth his way."_

Seffira snorted aloud: _"Good luck, you're going to need it!"_

…_._

The immense hall was as crowded as the courtyard outside. The rumble of deep voices, ring of boot heels on marble paved floor and jingle of spurs echoing off the high hammer beamed ceiling for this crowd was almost entirely masculine; knights, barons and higher nobles clad in bright heraldic colors, fur lined mantles thrown back in the comparative warmth from the three massive fireplaces, gathered in muttering clumps – and they say women gossip!

Cathan turned to Kevin McLain. "Morgan has arrived."

The young earl's eyes widened a little but he asked no questions just turned on his heel to scan the huge room for his cousin while Cathan searched with more subtle senses for another Deryni presence. Ah, there he was just a few yards inside the doors looking upward at the banners hanging from the ceiling beams with a blue cloaked aide at his back.

Unfortunately Cathan saw that he was not the only one to have spotted Morgan, Rogier de Fallon was already pushing his way towards him calling his name. Lord Alaric, understandably, headed in the opposite direction at some speed. Cathan and Kevin caught up with him as he was making his bow to Ewan of Claibourne flanked by two other Council Lords; Bran Coris and Ian Howell. Rogier nearly ran them all down a few seconds later.

"Morgan!" He sputtered, "you haven't answered my question. Has something happened to them?"

The Duke finished his bows and turned to him. "I fear it has, Rogier. Ralson, Colin, the two guards, three of my best officers – they're all dead."

"Dead!" Ewan echoed, voicing the shock on every face – even Cathan's. An attempt on Morgan was not unexpected but the mundane nature of the attack did surprise him.

"Oh my God," Kevin whispered, hand tightening on Morgan's shoulder. "Alaric, what happened?"

"I was at Cardosa when the news came," he answered, braced as if delivering a formal report. "I took the escort, Derry and three of my own men and we headed back for Rhemuth immediately. Two days out of Cardosa, we were ambushed in a pass – I think it was near Valoret. Ralson and our escort were killed outright. Colin died of his wounds the next day. Derry may lose the use of his left hand, but at least he escaped with his life.

Lord Rogier's eyes filled as he struggled to control himself. He and Ralson had been friends from boyhood. Bran Coris' face was ugly with anger rather than grief and Cathan eased closer to him in case some intervention became necessary.

Ian Howell frowned and stroked his beard in an unconvincing show of concern. "Why, that's ghastly, Morgan. Absolutely ghastly. Ah, how many did you say attacked you?"

"I didn't say," Morgan replied dryly, eyeing his questioner with understandable suspicion. "But I believe there were ten or twelve of them, wouldn't you agree, Derry?"

"We killed eight, m'lord," the aide said promptly. "But several more got away in the confusion."

Ewan humphed; "Nine Gwynedd men killed only eight of the ruffians? I'd've thought ye could do better than _that, _man!"

"So would I," Howell folded his arms across his golden brocaded chest, too elaborately casual a gesture to be genuine; "I don't pretend to be an expert in these matters like Ewan, but it seems to me that you _did_ make a rather poor showing. Of course none of us was there…"

"That's right," Bran Coris was quick to pick up the implication. "None of us was there. How can we be sure it happened the way you say it did? Why didn't you use your precious Deryni powers to save them, Morgan? Or didn't you _want_ to save them?"

Duke Alaric whirled eyes blazing but Cathan spoke first; "You misunderstand the nature of magic, my Lord Bran. It requires both focus and concentration making it of limited value in warfare and none at all in melee."

Everybody stared at him, well and truly distracted – stunned even. After a moment Morgan recovered enough to clear his throat slightly uneasily. "Um…yes, that is very true," he managed. "Er, Kevin, do you know where Kelson is now?"

"I'll tell him you're here," his cousin replied slipping promptly away, bright plaid swinging as he hurried towards the door behind the dais.

Unfortunately Bran Coris had recovered as well. "Smoothly maneuvered," he snarled, dividing a sneer impartially between Morgan and Cathan, "But seven deaths – I think that's too high a price to pay for your presence here!"

Cathan swiftly stepped in front of Morgan as Ewan caught the angry lord's sword arm forcing his blade back into its scabbard. "Stop it, Bran! And Alaric, I wish ye hadn't come. Frankly the queen didn't even want to Kelson to send for ye. In any event I don't think ye should see the lad until ye've talked to Her Majesty."

_Not _at all a good idea in Cathan's opinion! Fortunately Morgan agreed. "I'm well aware of the queen's feelings about me," he replied softly. "Fortunately for my conscience I don't care _what_ she thinks. I made a promise to the boy's father and I intend to keep it," he swept the circle around him with a deceptively mild gaze. "And I'm not at all sure that Brion would approve of my being on the agenda for today's Council meeting. That _is_ why you're all gathered here, isn't it, gentlemen?"

Cathan hid a smile as the others exchanged discomfited glances trying to figure out who had spilled the news. He rather wondered about that himself but it didn't matter, the boy was warned that was what counted. Rogier broke the strained silence:

"You must understand, Morgan, none of us has anything against you personally." Glancing at Bran Coris Cathan rather doubted that was true. "But the queen – well she hasn't taken Brion's death well at all."

"Neither have I, Rogier," Morgan replied evenly.

Then Prince Nigel stepped deftly into the space between Rogier and Ewan to take the Deryni Duke by the arm. "Alaric, I'm delighted to see you. And Lord Derry I believe?" the blue cloaked aide joined in the general bow, clearly pleased at being recognized. "I have a favor to ask though," Nigel continued, smoothly presuming on his royal rank. "Would you mind sitting in Alaric's place in Council, Derry? He has some important matters to take care of for me."

Such as making sure our king lives to be crowned, Cathan thought.

"It would be my honor, Your Highness," Derry was saying.

"Excellent," Nigel gave him a slightly distracted smile drawing Morgan away towards the same door Kevin had used. "You'll excuse us, won't you, gentlemen?" They moved away and were quickly lost in the crowd.

Cathan was looking after them with some amusement at the adroitness of the rescue when Bran Coris reclaimed his attention with a hissed; "So Deryni sorcerers stand together!" He turned to give the angry young Earl a cool look. Few men could meet his eye for long and Bran quickly proved he did not belong to that select band.

Duke Ewan gave the arm he still held an angry shake; "Willna ye keep yer mouth shut, lad?" he muttered with a nervous sidelong glance in Cathan's direction.

"This is neither the time nor the place for – disputes," he said at last. "But I am quite at your Lordship's service _after_ the coronation tomorrow."

"No need o' that, Cathan," Ewan said even more nervously. "Bran isna himself, none of us are." Bran opened his mouth and shut it again at the senior duke's glare. "Make your bow to His Grace and come with me, lad!" grudgingly Bran did as instructed and the two of them moved off with Rogier leaving Ian Howell behind – but only momentarily.

"Your Grace," the earl bowed himself elegantly but with some dispatch out of Cathan's presence heading off in a very different direction. The Master looked after him thoughtfully. Something that had passed in the last few minutes had seriously disturbed the usually self-satisfied Howell, but what?


	7. Chapter 7

As Joscelin had predicted keeping close to Kelson was _not_ a problem. Kel was glad of the company and Aunt Jehana fully approved, as she most certainly would not if she'd known what their usual topic of conversation was! Today they had taken refuge from the crowded conditions inside the palace on the leads adjoining the north tower.

"He should have been here two days ago!" Kelson jittered pacing the walkway behind the battlements. He no longer wore full mourning: Instead he was dressed in a wine colored silk tunic emblazoned with Lion of Gwynedd in golden thread but black crepe banded sleeve and belt and his velvet cloak was lined with black fox.

"I know, I know." Joscelin's own mourning had been replaced by the stark black and white of Bremagne. He eyed his distressed cousin from his seat between two merlons. Crispin and Perrin hovered nearby in their guard disguises. Joscelin steadied himself with a deep breath and took the plunge. "Kelson, if Morgan doesn't get here in time there is somebody else who can help."

His cousin shot him a look of surprise. "You mean Father Duncan? No, he can't. I've already asked. Morgan's the one with the key to father's power without that –"

"I didn't mean Father Duncan," Joscelin got up, moving to block his cousin's path. "I'm talking about Duke Cathan."

Kelson blinked. "Aunt Seffira said he was Deryni too, and she said they wanted to help but –"

"It will be second best he says," Joscelin went on over him. "You'll lose the accumulated experience of earlier Haldane kings but he _can_ give you what you need to face Charissa. It's true, Kel, I swear. Cathan was one of my father's teachers – and mine."

"Yours? But I thought –then you _did_ say your house had powers too-" Kelson shook his head as if trying to shake all this new information into some kind of coherent order.

Kevin McLain chose that exact moment to pop out of the tower door passing between the two 'guards' as if they weren't there – which as far as he was concerned they weren't. "He's here!"

Kelson turned to him in desperate hope. "Morgan?"

"Yes, sire," Kevin grinned.

The young king heaved a huge sigh of relief and Joscelin a somewhat smaller one at having been spared a lot of complicated and difficult explanations. Kelson turned to him "I've got to -"

"Go!" Joscelin told him.

…

Roxana had had no more trouble following her orders than Joscelin had his but staying close to her aunt was nowhere near as pleasant as keeping company with Kelson. At the moment they were all waiting for Jehana in the dappled sunlight and sweet scented roses of the garden room adjoining the Queen's bedchamber. The ladies had thankfully silenced their endless gossiping to listen to the sad strumming and humming of a young minstrel. As usual Roxana sat somewhat apart from the rest, toiling away at her tapestry loom, her rather stark white gown of stiff brocade contrasting with the ladies' black mourning robes. All stood to make their obeisance as Jehana appeared in the doorway also in sweeping black, her pale face framed by the dusky softness of a lace mantilla held in place by her heavy queenly coronet. She waved them back to their seats and wandered slowly to the opposite corner of the large room to pluck a rose dangling temptingly from the arbor and subside onto a black draped bench twirling it idly between her fingers.

Roxana eyed her covertly, trying to decide whether she should join her or not. Poor _Tante-Jehane_! Her face was so sad and so troubled, and God knew she had reason enough to be both – real reasons not the false ones she was tormenting herself with. Roxana would have given anything to lift the weight of those false fears from her aunt's shoulders but the Master had been right, her one hesitant attempt to make Jehana see the true situation had been a _disaster_. _Tante-Jehane_ just would not listen!

She had almost nerved herself to go over to her aunt when a serving maid appeared in the doorway to the bedchamber, looked around and scampered to Aunt Jehana's side bending to whisper frantically in her ear. Both looked at the garden gate and so did Roxana. Duke Nigel was there. He opened it and came in looking like a thundercloud. The maid hastily backed away then turned and fled. The ladies studiously bent to their needlework only Roxana dared to watch the confrontation.

"Jehana," the Duke said with a nod so brief as to be positively curt.

Aunt dropped her eyes. "I – I'd rather not talk to anyone just now, Nigel. Can't it wait?

"I don't think so," he answered and nodded tight lipped towards Roxana and the others. "May we be alone?"

Aunt Jehana shredded the stem of her rose with nervous fingers as she looked from her brother-in-law to the ladies and back. Then she realized what was she was doing and dropped the flower folding her hands firmly in her lap and keeping her eyes on them as she answered the Duke. "I have nothing to say to you that can't be said in the presence of my ladies, Nigel. Please, you know what I have to do. Don't make it any more difficult for me than it already is." She chanced a look up at him. It was Roxana's considered opinion that Duke Nigel had no interest whatsoever in making things easier for Aunt Jehana and she apparently drew the same conclusion after a quick glance at his grim expression. But she tried again; "Nigel, don't you understand? I don't want to discuss it. I know why you've come and it won't do you any good. You can't change my mind"

Roxana remembered her own failure with a wince and silently agreed. With the best will in the world she couldn't see Prince Nigel doing any better than she had. But clearly he meant to try!

He bent low over the queen growling something too softly for even Roxana's magically heightened senses to pick up. Aunt Jehana glared up at him. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I?"

She decided that he would – whatever it was. "Leave us," she ordered.

The ladies-in-waiting scuttled into the bedchamber like so many frightened hens. Roxana followed with more dignity silently wishing Duke Nigel the best of luck. The ladies immediately began clucking excitedly and she continued on across the room to the peace of the small antechamber between bedroom and withdrawing room.

…..

Crispin and Perrin, still disguised as guards, hovered at a distance as Kelson consulted with Duke Alaric within sight but not sound. The relationship between a student and his Master and Guide is as sacred, and should be as private, as that between confessor and penitent.

They shadowed the pair as they slowly circled the boxwood maze conversing earnestly, the duke occasionally raising his head for a quick scan of the garden his eyes passing over the two pretended guards as if they weren't there. That bothered Crispin a little. His father would have seen them. Even _he _could see through a simple veiling.

"Only if you try," Perrin answered when he stated his concerns out loud. "Duke Alaric doesn't know there are any other Deryni at court. He has no reason to use anything but his human eyes." That was very true.

The idle wanderings of duke and prince brought them to the reflecting pool, set like a jewel amid the knot-work hedges at the center of the garden. Kelson sat down on a smooth rock placed on the edge of the pool for just that purpose, swept up a handful of pebbles from the graveled walk and started pitching them one after another into the still water. The duke settled on a second stone on the other side of the path and they continued to talk.

…

Roxana looked up from her book of hours as the outer door opened and Duke Nigel entered the anteroom. His expression made it clear he had indeed had no better luck than she in making Aunt Jehana understand the true issues. He started a little at the sight of the young princess then collected himself and returned her curtsey with a bow. "Your Highness. Her Majesty will be joining me shortly. I am to wait for her here."

"Of course," Roxana nodded her understanding before turning to slip into the feminine flurry of the next room.

" –Find Prince Kelson," Aunt Jehana was saying to the plump and fluttery Lady Esther. "Bring him to me here. Do _not_ let him go to the Council Chamber by himself I want him to make his entrance with me."

Roxana laid a quiet bet with herself on the probability of _that_ happening. "Joscelin said they would be on the north leeds," she volunteered.

"Thank you, dear. You heard Her Highness, Esther, look there first."

"Yes Your Majesty." The girl made her curtsey and left with a self-important air. 

"Prince Nigel is waiting in the anteroom, Aunt," Roxana added.

"Let him wait!" Jehana bit off the words with a snap.

Oh dear, it looked like all the duke had managed to do was make her even angrier.

…

Suddenly the easy postures of the two distant figures were charged with tension. Duke Alaric's hand fell to his sword hilt as he eased himself to his feet. The two young guardians moved closer. Morgan's eyes were fixed on a point behind the prince, near the hand supporting him as he sat, but they couldn't make out what had alarmed him so.

The duke's sword flashed down on whatever it was and the two broke into a run as Kelson rolled aside and to his feet, sleeve stiletto in hand, and somewhere nearby a woman screamed.

Gaining the prince's side Crispin and Perrin drew their own swords and finally saw what it was that Morgan was attacking; a huge insectile _thing_ with multiple legs and clashing pincers the size of a man's two hands being rapidly hacked to unidentifiable bits by the duke's sword. Dear God, a Stenrect!

Tearing his eyes away Crispin saw guards running towards them from all points of the compass, swords and halberds at the ready, and a black robed woman her skirts caught up to her knees and veil streaming as she ran, still screaming.

The guards formed a circle around the prince and his protector, weapons held threateningly as the woman cowered behind a broad chested officer wearing the gold edged helmet and large badge of a captain, peering with huge eyes over his shoulder.

"Drop the sword, you!" the captain snapped at Duke Alaric, of course failing to notice Crispin and Perrin – as indeed did they all including Kelson although they were close enough for him to touch .

"I saw him, I saw him!" the woman wailed hysterically pointing at Morgan. He was trying to kill the prince! He put a spell on him, and was about to slay him when I screamed!"

Perrin rolled his eyes but Crispin remained tense; if Morgan and Kelson didn't handle this just right the two of them might have to intervene to save the duke.

"I said drop it - now!" the captain repeated. Morgan didn't obey but he did lower the blade to a less threatening position. "Sire, please! Move away from him slowly. We'll take care of him!"

Instead Kelson stepped in front of the duke making calming motions with hand. 'It's all right, Captain. It isn't what you think. Lady Elvira, there's been a misunderstanding."

In all justice an armed man standing over their king-to-be was a genuinely alarming sight, Crispin reflected. And he was beginning to suspect that neither guards nor lady had recognized the man in black leathers.

"A misunderstanding?" Elvira all but shrieked indignantly. "Your Highness, you must still be under his spell! He nearly murdered you where you sat. Only my screams caused him to miss the mark and –"

"Madame -" Duke Alaric cut her off in a voice like a blade of ice. "What I aim for, I hit. And no silly woman's hysterical screaming as made me miss the mark yet!" He punctuated that less than entirely helpful statement by finally throwing down his sword so it stuck tip first and quivering in the soft garden earth.

The guard captain signaled for his men to sheath weapons. "Sire, forgive me, but it did look like –"

"I know what it looked like," the young king interrupted. "No apology is necessary. You and your men were merely trying to protect me. As you can see however," he moved closer to the ruin of red and orange flesh marring the turf, "General Morgan was merely killing a –what the devil _is_ it, Morgan?"

The duke retrieved and sheathed his sword before moving to the prince's side, everybody else drew closer as well for a view of the thing. "It's a Stenrect crawler, my prince," he said matter-of-factly prodding the remains with his toe. "And if my first blow _had_ missed," he added with a look at Lady Elvira, "and the creature had bitten you, my second blow would have taken off your hand. There is no antidote for the sting of a Stenrect."

There was a stir among the gathered men as they crossed themselves. Lady Elvira blanched even paler and shrank away from the remains of the thing drawing her skirts close around her. Even mortals had heard of the Stenrect, though if asked before no doubt all would have dismissed it as a mere legend.

They had also by now realized exactly who they had just tried to arrest. The captain made Morgan a nervous bow. "My apologies, Your Grace. Had I realized my liege to be under the protection of your sword, I would not have been so quick with mine. Your reputation goes before you." He signaled for his men to disperse, which they did with good will and perhaps unbecoming haste.

This time it was Crispin who rolled his eyes while Perrin choked back a laugh. But Duke Alaric returned the bow graciously. "I'm sure it does, Captain," he said with well concealed irony. "I quite understand your position."

The man turned gratefully to Kelson. "My apologies again, Sire. Shall I escort the Lady Elvira back to her quarters?" The lady in question started slightly at the sound of her name as if she'd been rather hoping they'd all forgotten she was there.

"Please do so, Captain, by all means," the king answered; "Unless, of course, the lady wishes to stay for a closer look at the Stenrect?"

She backed even further away from the remains shaking her head frantically. "Oh, no, Your Highness! Please, I meant no harm. I didn't know it was His Grace, and from across the garden, I-"

Kelson took mercy on her. "Your concern is appreciated, my lady." He waved a gracious dismissal. She curtsied, took the guard captain's proffered arm and the two of them made their escape.

Morgan chuckled. "Your ladies and your guards seem to be keeping quite an eye out for you, my prince."

Kelson snorted. "The Lady Elvira has an overactive imagination. She's been warned about that before. And as for my guards- they're so edgy, they'd try to arrest anything that moved. It's a good thing they didn't recognize you at first, though. The rumors about you haven't helped their morale any."

Duke Alaric grimaced. "I'm getting used to that reaction. It's the Stenrect that worries me."

Crispin and Perrin exchanged glances. It worried them too.

"Is that really what it is?" Prince Kelson was saying. "I always thought they were just myths, fairy tales to scare children."

'_Oh they scare much more than children,'_ Crispin thought grimly.

"No, they're quite real, as you saw," the duke answered. "I'm wondering how one got into your garden, though. Stenrects are creatures of the night. It takes a great deal of power to call one out in broad daylight. Charissa is capable of course, but if she means to challenge you tomorrow, I hardly see the point." He also seemed to be missing a very disturbing implication – or maybe he just didn't know enough about the esoteric practice of summoning creatures to realize it was not something that could be done at a distance.

"Then you don't think I was meant to be killed?" Kelson asked.

Morgan took his arm. "Intended to frighten, not kill, I think." The general looked around – once again failing to notice Crispin and Perrin practically under his nose – then drew the prince with him as he headed purposefully towards the gate at the far end of the garden leading to the lower ward.

"Follow them," Crispin told Perrin. "I'm going to get father."


	8. Chapter 8

Queen Jehana sailed into the council chamber head high. Her desire to enter with her son had gone unfulfilled just as Roxana had expected. Lady Esther came fluttering back with the message that Kelson would be delayed. The fact that it had come from Duke Alaric rather than the Prince himself did nothing to improve the Queen's temper. She had had to settle for Duke Nigel's escort. It wasn't easy to ignore somebody when you were actually on his arm but Aunt Jehana managed it!

Happily she had succumbed easily to Roxana's magically reinforced suggestion that she be allowed to attend her into the council chamber itself, _Tant-Jehane_ hadn't even left herself shields! The princess walked in on her aunt's heels and stationed herself behind her chair at the head of the table as Prince Nigel continued around the other side to take his seat at the foot.

The woodwork of walls and ceiling was dark with age and everybody but Roxana was in full mourning out of deference to the queen. The winter sunlight coming through the windows down the right wall and the big yellow candles flickering in the stands banking the long table did nothing to brighten the scene.

Uncle Brion's throne next to Aunt Jehana was empty of course, as was Kelson's seat facing them at the other end of the table, also a seat on the left side. But all the others were filled. Roxana scanned the faces ticking off the members of the council; Archbishop Corrigan sat, lumpish, on Aunt Jehane's left with Duke Jared beside him, followed by his son Kevin of Kierney; a young man with brown hair and a blue cloak with his arm in a sling sitting in what was normally Duke Alaric's chair; Prince Nigel; the Earl of Marley; the Earl of Eastmarch; Earl Fallon – no connection to the royal family of that kingdom; Bishop Arilan of the Camberian Council, and of course Duke Ewan the Earl Marshal.

The princess sighed inwardly. It didn't look at all good. Prince Nigel and the McLains could be counted on to support Morgan, and Arilan too if he knew what was good for him, but the others were likely hostile or at the very least uncertain.

"My Lord Mashal," Aunt Jehane's voice abruptly cut off the whispers passing between the lords. "Would you call the Council to order? We have important matters to resolve this afternoon, and I think we cannot wait any longer."

Duke Nigel bobbed to his feet at the foot of the table. "A moment's indulgence, Your Majesty, but His Royal Highness has been unavoidably detained, and asked that I delay the start of this meeting. He wished to be present when certain charges are brought before the Council.

Aunt Jehana was still pretending Nigel didn't exist. "My Lord Ewan, if you please," she said coldly.

The Prince wasn't going to stand for it. "I should like an answer."

"Lord Ewan, you will continue!" the queen said in a voice that dripped icicles.

Roxana felt deeply sorry for the beleaguered Earl Marshal. Looking uneasily from one end of the table to the other he said; "Your Majesty, if you command it, I shall, of course, convene the Council without Prince Kelson. But if His Royal Highness wishes to be present, common courtesy dictates –"

"Common courtesy seems to have no place in this Council today, as far as my esteemed son is concerned," Aunt Jehana interrupted coolly. "Prince Kelson was summoned some time ago. He has declined to appear. Apparently he has other business that he considers more pressing then his duty to his Council lords." A judgment with which Roxana fully concurred - but not his mother: "I can only apologize for his inconsiderate and immature behavior and hope that he will improve with age and wiser counseling. As for today, this _is_ a _Regency_ Council, and therefore his presence is not mandatory. Are there any questions?"

As if anybody would dare after that outburst! Prince Nigel subsided unhappy but silenced for the moment at least. Ewan cleared his throat and bowed to Aunt Jehana. "There are no questions, Your Majesty. If things are as you say, I see no reason to delay any longer."

But things were _not_ as Aunt Jehana said! Roxana thought rebelliously. She had gotten everything _entirely _wrong and if she went on like this she was going to get Kelson _killed_!

Serenely unaware of the seething princess Duke Ewan finished calling the Council officially to order. Aunt Jehana stood.

"My lords, it distresses me to come before you like this today. It distresses me because I dislike admitting that my late husband and lord was not infallible as I had always believed him to be.

"For my Lord Brion made a dreadful mistake in his appointment of one of his Council lords. The man he appointed was and is a traitor and a blasphemer, and even now conspires against Brion's legitimate heir. That is why Prince Kelson is not with us today.

"The man is well known to you, my lords. He is, of course, the Duke of Corwyn, Lord General Alaric Anthony Morgan – the Deryni!"

Roxana rolled her eyes ceiling-ward in genuine prayer; Oh dear God!

…..

"So Charissa would have had to be inside the castle – wouldn't she?" Crispin, now back in his own shape with his cloak drawn close around him to hide the guard's uniform, ended his account of the Stenrect incident and looked worriedly up at his father.

"Indeed she would," the Master agreed grimly.

"But how?" Joscelin, flanking him on the other side, demanded. "It would have been easy for her to get into the forecourt in all the confusion before Uncle Brion's last hunt rode out but security is a lot tighter now."

Cathan turned to rest his back against the terrace balustrade, folded his arms and contemplated the mass of the great hall looming over the three of them. "Charissa must have the use of a transfer portal within the walls," he answered, "certainly not ours. Nor, I would guess, the confessor's portal in Father Duncan's study - which leaves King Javan's portal."

Crispin frowned "That room's been sealed for years."

"Since King Malcolm's day," his father reminded him. "Quite long enough for the reason to be forgotten," the grim line of his mouth quirked ruefully. "And the castle has been very full hasn't it?"

Joscelin's eyes narrowed. "We've already guessed Charissa has somebody at court working with her –"

"Almost certainly whoever has that room." The master finished pushing himself away the railing. "Lord Rhodri will know."

….

My Lord of Pembroke, Hereditary Chamberlain of the Palace of the Kings of Gwynedd, came to his feet in astonishment as well as respect when his crowded cubby of an office behind the Great Hall was invaded by the Prince Royale of Bremagne, a Duke and a Duke's heir. Cathan did the talking:

"Forgive the interruption, Rhordri," he said, "I know how busy you must be, but can you tell me who has the chamber down the hall from the library, the one that was sealed?"

The old chamberlain blinked but his capacious memory promptly supplied the answer; "The Earl of Eastmarch, Your Grace. May I ask why –"

Cathan interrupted him. "No, I'm afraid you may not." He caught and held Rhodri's eye extending his powers. "And it would be best for us all if you forgot this visit entirely."

Slowly the old man sank back into his chair eyes distant, glassy. After a moment they tracked downward to the seating diagram on his desk and fixed there. He picked up his stylus and began scratching industriously away at a tablet under his right hand completely absorbed in his work and quite unconscious of the three Deryni's quiet departure.

"Howell!" Crispin said explosively as they made their way through a narrow mural passage back to the formal areas of the castle. "What _is_ it with the Howells and treason? This'll be the second generation in a row to side with the Pretenders!"

Cathan nodded. "Quite. I should have suspected him from the beginning." He rubbed his short beard thoughtfully. "Just an hour or so ago I pretty much revealed myself as a practicing Deryni to several of our council lords, including Howell, who reacted very oddly indeed now that I come to think about it. Apparently Charissa didn't see fit to warn him about me."

"Probably didn't want to spook him," said Joscelin.

The Master smiled. "I must see to it that I do."

…..

Perrin trailed Duke Alaric and the Prince at a discreet distance as they set a brisk pace through the pond gardens of the lower ward to the winding way that led up a low eminence and through a gate to the courtyard in front of the western doors of the basilica. A priestly figure wearing the purple sash of a monsignor emerged from the dimness of the Church to eagerly draw prince and duke inside.

Perrin waited until they'd cleared the doors then stepped inside the room at the foot of the bell tower to shed his guard's brigandine under which he was wearing one of his own tunics in deep violet wool with the sword badge of Travlum on the left breast. Stepping into the nave he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light and took stock of the place. There was the usual scatter of devotees; old men and women from the town filling up their empty hours with religious observances, a few of the monks from the Abbey and, on the right hand side of the aisle three men, heads bent over clasped hands, dressed in scarlet leather brigandines like the one he'd left in the bell tower but marked over the heart with Queen Jehana's personal badge.

He walked down the aisle past the men, their eyes flicking sideways to note his passage, and slipped into a pew on the left hand side and a few rows up to kneel beside the deceptively demure figure of the Duchess Seffira's Connaiti maid, bright red curls escaping from beneath her starched coif .

"Himself at last!" she whispered, meaning Duke Alaric. Then; "Where's Crispin?"

Perrin explained in a series of images; both quicker and quieter than an answering whisper. Aoibhell Uineill was pure Human - and proud of it - but she was also an initiate of the Circle with some very un-human faculties or, more accurately, faculties Humans were not encouraged to develop and taught to think of as purely Deryni – and forbidden.

'Oh Lord help us!' she sent back, her mental voice vibrant with shock. 'A Stenrect, whatever will it be next?'

Before Perrin could answer Father Duncan emerged from a side door, a violet stole draped around his neck, and made for the altar. At the same moment one of the queen's men slide out of his pew and headed up the aisle towards the Monsignor. Apparently unaware Duncan rose from his genuflection to fish something out of his sash. As the guard reached the altar rail the good Father dropped whatever it was and it went skittering down the altar steps to rest inches from the toe of the man's boot. He picked it up automatically as Duncan hurried down the steps from the tabernacle. The two met just a couple of pews in front of where Perrin and Aoibhell knelt and they had no trouble hearing the ensuing exchange.

The guard dropped whatever it was into Duncan's outstretched hand with a sheepish smile. "Thank you, my son," The Priest murmured, then as the man continued to stand staring at him; "May I be of any help?"

Perrin's heart went out to the poor guard. The man was all but sweating, obviously very unhappy but determined to obey orders. "Monsignor, I have to ask you this. Is General Morgan with you?"

"You mean, in my study?" Father Duncan replied, fairly radiating innocence. Aoibhell ducked her head lower and Perrin clearly heard her snicker. The guard nodded.

"General Morgan has come to me as a penitent son of the Church," Duncan continued piously. "He wishes to receive the sacrament before his trial, as does Prince Kelson." Blue eyes widened in patent – and Perrin was willing to bet false – innocence. "Can there be anything wrong in that?" The guard, visibly embarrassed, shook his head, bowed, and beat a hasty retreat. Small explosions of ill suppressed giggles shook Aoibhell and Perrin silently cheered; well done Monsignor McLain!

Father Duncan remounted the altar steps, unlocked the tabernacle – apparently it was the key he'd dropped – and made a show of consolidating the contents of three chalices into two but there was definitely more going on than that; Perrin easily picked up a flicker of power and he and Aoibhell exchanged looks: Duncan was doing something magical but fairly minor up there, probably retrieving something from a spell sealed hiding place somewhere on the altar. King Brion's symbols of power most like.

Monsignor McLain sailed back through the side door, veiled chalice cradled in both hands, fairly radiating satisfaction. Perrin allowed himself a little sigh of relief. It seemed King Kelson's protectors had matters well in hand.

…..

Spooking Earl Ian was going to have to wait on more urgent matters. Cathan was among the curious courtiers loitering in the marble paved gallery outside the tall, cast bronze doors of the Council chamber when they opened. The Master's mouth tightened as the erect and energetic figure of Loris of Valoret, the persecutor, was summoned inside only to exit moments later, a sealed writ in his hand and his black travel cloak belling behind him. He was followed, much more slowly, by Duke Ewan who beckoned one of Rhodri's under-chamberlains closer and began issuing low voiced orders into the man's ear. A few more Council lords emerged, Kevin McLain among them. He made at once for Cathan.

"That doesn't look good," the Duke remarked nodding after the Archbishop.

"It isn't," Kevin answered tightly. "They convicted him, sir. On evidence a child could see through!" his voice shook with outrage.

Cathan nodded grimly. "I wish I could say I was surprised. I assume Loris is going to collect Morgan?"

"That's right – the bigoted bastard!" Kevin made an effort to pull himself together. "The queen's given orders that appropriate non-Councilors be admitted for the sentencing, you qualify. Come on in, I'll find you a seat."


	9. Chapter 9

Crispin, still in his own form, slipped into the pew and knelt down next to Perrin who took one look at his face and guessed; "Bad news?"

"The worst," Crispin muttered into his hands. "They voted for conviction. Loris is coming to collect Morgan now."

"Loris!" Perrin hissed between his teeth.

Loris was very well known to all three of them for his Deryni persecutions up north. Trouble was they also knew _why_ he hated magic and magic users and that there was more to it than sheer prejudice. Loris, regrettably, had had personal experience of Black Magic while Bishop of Stavenham in Kheldour. And knowing the sort of atrocities he must have seen it was hard to entirely blame him for his hostility. The Lleasilli – worshippers of the old, dark gods - were enough to make even a Deryni doubt the rightness of his powers.

"What if he doesn't surrender?" Aoibhell asked.

Crispin grimaced, "I can't see that happening, can you?"

Perrin nodded rueful agreement, "He's not going to outlaw himself until he's left with no other choice."

Aoibhell snorted; "Men and their silly rules!"

…..

Had Princess Roxana overheard that opinion she would have agreed emphatically. She could not believe her eyes when Duke Alaric marched tamely into the Council chamber, a bound prisoner. And Kelson looked positively grim as he took his seat at the foot of the long table. The milling crowd hastily settled down and Roxana noted with approval that the Master had chosen a seat at Kelson's end of the room just feet from where Duke Alaric was standing. She had no doubt at all that if worst came to worst he would be able to get Morgan out. If it came to that it would be her job to handle _Tant-Jehane_. She looked at the back of her aunt's chair and cautiously tested the link she'd established between them. Jehana remained unaware of the intrusion. Roxana would have no trouble taking control if she had to. It was almost frightening how easy it would be. _How_ could _Tant-Jehane_ have left herself so vulnerable? She didn't even have normal _human_ defenses!

Archbishop Loris laid the official writ on the table in front of Aunt Jehana with a bow. "Your Majesty, I have served the Council's write and procured the prisoner as you commanded." He turned to take a sword from an attendant. "I now present the prisoner's sword as proof of his surrender to the just summons of the –"

"Archbishop!" Kelson was on his feet, eyes blazing.

"Your Highness?" Loris answered warily.

"You will bring the sword to _me_, Archbishop," Kelson ordered, voice crackling with command. "General Morgan is _my_ prisoner."

Loris, sword still in hand, took a step towards the prince, recovered himself and turned uncertainly back to the queen. "Your Majesty?"

Jehana was glaring at her son. "Kelson, if you think –"

"His Excellency will bring the sword to _me_, Mother," he said crisply. "By law and custom it is my right. I am still head of this Council, if only in name."

"Very well," Aunt Jehana impatiently waved Loris toward the other end of the table. "But that won't save him, you know."

"We shall see." The prince sat back down, nodding cool acknowledgement of the Archbishop's bow as he placed the disputed blade on the table in front of him. First honors to Kelson! He promptly returned to the attack. "Uncle Nigel," he said, eyes locked in a level stare with Aunt Jehana. "I believe you were given strict instructions to delay the Council meeting until I could arrive. Perhaps you can explain?"

Prince Nigel gave the queen a look of barely veiled triumph. "Indeed I can, Your Majesty. I did try to inform the Council that you had asked for a postponement but there were certain others who ignored that request. Her Majesty the queen informed us that you were engaged in more important matters. She insisted we begin without you.

Aunt Jehana looked away from Kelson's frown. "Is this true, Mother?"

"Of course it's true!" she answered, still avoiding his gaze. "There were things to be done, Kelson – things that should have been done a long time ago. At least your Council shows some common sense. You're precious Morgan was convicted by a vote of five to four."

How much sense that showed was debatable to say the least! Roxana saw Kelson bite back a sharp retort. He breathed then said quite calmly. "Very well, my lords, I see that nothing I can say will change your minds at this point."

The princess shot a nervous glance at Duke Cathan. He was leaning back, deceptively relaxed in his chair, his eyes fixed on the prince's profile. Did Kelson have a plan? The Master seemed to think so. Roxana looked back at her cousin.

"I would ask one indulgence before I pass judgment on this case, however. I shall require each of you to re-cast your vote as you did before," he said and Roxana frowned. How would that help? "As I understand it you are questioning General Morgan's fidelity to Crown and Church," Kelson continued. "I should like to know who believes this patent lie." The princess hid a grin. That was putting them on the spot all right! She thought gleefully, Kelson had just made it very clear that Morgan's enemies would be counted as his. And he would be king in fact as well as name after today.

The Earl Fallon rose to face his prince, visibly uneasy. "Are you challenging the findings of your lawful Council, Your Highness?"

_Yes!_ Roxana thought fiercely.

"Not at all," said Kelson. "I merely wish to reassure myself that your verdict was, indeed, secured by lawful means."

_Lawful but not just,_ was Roxana's silent comment. She saw Duke Cathan's lips quirk as he picked up the thought.

"Come, gentlemen, we waste precious time," Kelson was saying. "How say you? Is Morgan, indeed, a traitor and a heretic? Uncle?"

Prince Nigel stood to reply. "Lord Alaric is innocent of the charges, Your Majesty."

One by one the lords of the Council repeated their votes: Earl Bran, guilty; Earl Ian, guilty; Bishop Arilan, innocent; Duke Ewan, guilty. Kelson skipped over his mother to ask the question of Archbishop Corrigan:

"Guilty, Your Majesty," he said –giving Kelson the kingly style Roxana noted. "We have not even _begun_ to catalogue the sins of the Deryni!"

Roxana suppressed a growl. "A simply 'guilty' is sufficient, Archbishop," Kelson snapped equally annoyed. "The entire race is not on trial here. One man is. A man, I might add, who has done much for Gwynedd."

"Who has done much _to_ Gwynedd!" Corrigan retorted.

"Enough, Archbishop!" Kelson silenced the prelate with an icy Haldane glare and moved on down the table. "Duke Jared?"

"Not guilty, Sire."

"And Lord Kevin?"

"Innocent, Your Majesty."

Kelson turned that wide Haldane glare on his mother. "I know that Lord Derry also voted for acquittal, so that makes – five to five. I hardly think that constitutes a conviction, Mother."

So _that_ was Kelson's game, Roxana thought, enlightened. But would he be allowed to get away with it?

Not if Aunt Jehana had anything to say about it. "Lord Derry was not permitted to vote. He is not a member of this Council."

Roxana bit her lip and chanced another look at the Master. Duke Cathan was sitting upright, eyes still intent on Kelson but with a hint of smile in their depths.

Kelson's eyes narrowed. Aunt Jehana and a couple of the other lords flinched. That look on his father's face had meant trouble. "Very well," he said calmly. "I had intended Derry to vote in Morgan's place in his absence, but since Morgan is here now, he can vote for himself. I think there will be no question how his vote goes."

Roxana nearly laughed out loud at the looks on the Council lords' faces. "Morgan cannot vote!" Aunt Jehana sputtered. "He is on trial."

Kelson's eyebrows rose. "But he is still a member of the Council until convicted, Mother," he explained in a patient tone that would have goaded any woman to fury. "Until and unless his powers and prerogatives are stripped away by lawful action, you cannot deny him his vote – especially since he was not even allowed to speak in his own behalf." Roxana saw Duke Cathan, and a few others nod agreement to that. Morgan _should _have been allowed to present a defense – for all the good it would have done him.

Aunt Jehana leapt to her feet red with anger. "And if you cannot deny him _his_ right to vote, neither can you deny me _mine_! Since you decided to join us and assume leadership of the Council I am no longer so bound. And I say Morgan is guilty as charged which brings your vote to six to five against him. Your precious Morgan is doomed, Kelson! What do you say to that?"

Roxana looked reproachfully at her aunt, on the other hand Kelson had asked for it using that tone with her. She glanced at her cousin; Kelson was sitting back in his chair blank faced with shock. Then at the Master, what now?

Cathan was watching Morgan. The Duke's head and eyes were lowered, even at this distance she could almost hear his mind working, formulating a plan. She glanced back at the Master. Did he have some plan of his own or were they to follow Duke Alaric's lead? Their eyes met. The latter, they would support Duke Alaric's move when it came. Roxana moved closer to her aunt's chair resting a hand lightly on its arm.

"My lords," Kelson was saying in a weary, defeated voice. "It seems we have lost," he included Morgan and Nigel as well as himself in a vague wave. "I-I would beg your indulgence in one more matter before I pronounce sentence, however. I would request that the full charges against General Morgan be read out first. Are there any objections?"

"Of course not," Aunt Jehana resumed her seat putting her shoulder in easy reach of Roxana. "Lord Ewan, would you read the charges in their entirety?"

Poor Ewan looked as if there were any number of things he would rather do but dutifully began to read; "To His Grace, Lord Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of Corwyn and Lord General of the Royal Armies –"

Roxana braced herself, ready to seize control of her aunt the instant Duke Alaric moved, in the meantime wondering vaguely just why Kelson had made his request. It looked like a ploy to buy time… Abruptly she remembered what day this was, and exactly why the coronation had been scheduled for tomorrow. She looked at the Master and saw he too had guessed what Kelson was up to. Heaven grant the indictment was long enough!

It was - barely. Just as Duke Ewan sank gratefully back into his chair the Basilica bells sounded the hour. _One…two….three….four…_

Roxana rolled her eyes. Kelson hadn't had to wait at all! It only went to show one should always keep track of the time. Her cousin rose; "My lords, Your Majesty," he said formally, bowing to Aunt Jehana. "We have heard the charges against our general. We have also heard the wishes – indeed the demands – of the Council in this matter. However it pleases us to consider one further item of business before pronouncing judgment on the accused."

Roxana blinked as murmurs broke out around the table. She hadn't been expecting that. Why didn't Kelson just tell them exactly what they could do with their charges and dismiss the case?

"It has occurred to us," Kelson continued conversationally, "that our ranks have recently been saddened by the loss of our good and loyal servant, Lord Ralson of Evering." He crossed himself piously and the lords followed suit but Aunt Jehana didn't move, hands clenched tensely on the arms of her chair. "Therefore we have decided to appoint a new Council lord to fill his place."

"You cannot do that!" Aunt Jehana cried rocking her heavy throne as she sprang to her feet.

"We are, aware of course," Kelson continued as if he hadn't heard, "that Lord Derry can never replace Lord Ralson, but we are certain he will bring his own measure of devotion to that honored post. Sean Lord Derry."

The Council erupted as the young lord got uncertainly to his feet, looking to Morgan for support and receiving an almost visible shrug in answer. The protest continued, growing louder, and Kelson pounded the table for order with the hilt of Morgan's sword.

Aunt Jehana's voice rose high above the men's; "Kelson, you cannot do this! You have no right. You _know_ you cannot appoint a new councilor without the approval of the Regents. You are not of age!"

Roxana clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh _poor_ Aunt Jehana!

Kelson gave his mother a frighteningly hard, chill look. "Lords of the Council, my esteemed mother has apparently forgotten that it was precisely fourteen years and one hour ago, in another room of this very palace, that she brought into this world a son: Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane; that, as her labor ended, the royal physicians placed me in her arms – and the bells tolled three in the afternoon!" the queen collapsed into her chair and Kelson continued: "And you, my lords: the reason for our coronation tomorrow instead of today has apparently slipped your minds, also. As you are well aware, royal writ decrees that no king of Gwynedd shall be crowned in his own right until he has fully reached legal age. Since I was not due to each that legal age until three this afternoon – too late for a coronation, you must admit – the ceremony was scheduled for tomorrow. But I rule today!"

And that was that. Derry was summarily sworn in and predictably declared his lord innocent. Only then did Kelson employ his authority to break the tie, acquit the Duke, cut his bonds, return his sword and sweep out of the room with Morgan and Derry in attendance. Go Kelson!

The moment the door closed behind the three the room again erupted in exclamations and arguments. Roxana looked at her aunt, still frozen in her chair, and some of her elation leaked away. _Tant-Jehane's_ hands worked and unshed tears gathered in her eyes. For her this was not merely a political defeat. How would any mother feel if her son defied her to side with a man she regarded as mortal enemy to them both?

Roxana slipped her hand into Jehana's as it unclenched. The queen looked at her startled, then forced back the tears to smile reassuringly into her niece's concerned face and got to her feet. The two of them walked out of the room hand in hand past temporarily silenced, bowing councilors. And the brazen doors closed behind them with a hollow boom, cutting off the sounds of renewed debate.


End file.
